Umbra
by tapioca two-step
Summary: Don't forget the shadow's speed. Companion piece to Lux.
1. Rhiannon Rings

Okay, I caved in and began writing this a couple days ago. Based on Return to Na Pali, our favorite game's sucky mission pack sequel before UT came along and raped everything up the ass with its awesomeness. This is really just an exercise in descriptions and place and whatnot, and it'll be shorter than Luxie.

I: Rhiannon Rings

The UMS Chantilly struck terra firma at dawn, tearing a neat trench in the peak of a mountain, filling the air with chunks of grey rock and the sounds of metal striking home. Its bulky body bounced once or twice before it came to a grinding stop with its nose poking precariously over the lip of the mountain's ledge. The inhabitants of the small Nali town of Edge, leaving their thatched-roof huts in the salmon colored morning to tend their animals or fish from the lake at the bottom of the valley, looked up in dim surprise as the sudden shadow of a star chariot blotted out the sun. Most of the four-armed creatures merely shrugged and went about their business. The miracle that most of them had been waiting for had came and went, as fast as a flash of lightning across the sky, and most were in the same dire circumstances that they had always known. The Terran ships that crashed onto Na Pali now brought nothing but trouble. So the Nali ignored the great gray shadow and trudged from their huts to their pastures and back again, and some took their fishing poles and woven nets and made the steep journey down to the lowest part of the valley where the water ran fast and cold, standing by the muddy banks all day and trying to ignore the ship looming like a curse above them.

The crash site was quiet for hours after it initially struck, but no place with Terran life is ever still for very long. And so it was the middle part of the day, when the ground was cracked with heat and the clouds wisped away in the dry wind, when a figure came stumbling out of the still smoking Chantilly and into the light, blinking and holding one arm over her eyes to shield herself. Her officer's uniform was singed and her straight red hair was falling out of the severe bun she had pulled it into. Her nails were painted a bright coral color and she smelled like perfume and burning plastic.

Wobbling over chunks of upturned earth and pulverized boulders, the officer made her unsteady way from the Chantilly, looking all around her in search of her fellow colleagues. She had no idea how long she had been knocked out, and she barely remembered the crash at all. There was the sound of an alarm in her memory, and people shouting, and then the Chantilly had spun to the side like a stone that had been kicked. And then there was nothing. She had been in the galley, she recalled suddenly, because she had woken up underneath one of the benches, her back aching and her navy blue flight suit covered with coffee and other spillage from the buffet trays halfway across the room.

Squinting and stumbling, the officer made her slow way up the crashed ship's trench, the loose dirt crumbling under her shoes. When she reached solid ground she turned around and sat down heavily, facing the Chantilly, a look of disbelief twisting her features into a grimace. She looked at the watch on her wrist, tapping it and holding it to her ear. It was broken. She sighed and dropped her head onto her forearms. The sun beat down onto her and plastered her uniform to her skin with sweat, but for some reason she was shivering.

As the hours went by and the clouds built and swelled and were blown away in the sunlit sky, the Chantilly remained silent, but still steamed from its violent reentry. By the time the second sun was a waning wisp of memory against the distant mountains and the cooling air began thrumming with the sound of insect wings, the woman was still the only figure on the face of the mountain. She had fallen into a kind of silent stupor and was lying on the ground with her face hidden in the crook of her arm when she heard a groan. She raised her head. Her cheek was smeared with dirt.

"Hello?" she asked. Her voice had a brittle, bossy quality and was a little bit hoarse. The groan came again, and she got to her feet, squinting through the darkness. The sound was so quiet she didn't know if she was really hearing it. She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted. "Hello?"

"Help..."

The weak sounds were coming from the very lip of the side of the mountain and the woman started as she saw a limp form hanging halfway off the edge into oblivion. As fast as her limp would allow her to go, she hurried over and dropped to her hands and knees, getting a handful of the figure's bloody flightsuit and hauling backwards, dragging them onto solid ground.

"You idiot," she panted, relief evident in her raw voice. She placed a hand on the figure's shivering back to calm herself and make sure that she really wasn't alone. "You were about to fall."

"...Already...fell."

"What?"

"We...already…fell," the figure repeated, pushing its upper body up with its forearms. A rattling cough issued from its lungs. The woman peered at the face of her companion and instantly recognized him in the waning light. The joy went out of her face and venom filled her eyes.

"Machiel Worch!"

The man lifted his head, clenching his square jaw to look with droopy-lidded eyes at the woman across from him. His curly hair, matted to his forehead with blood, obscured his vision, but he recognized that nails-on-chalkboard voice anywhere. "Hello…again, Rhiannon," he said, his voice strained.

"You will address me as Officer Ries," she sniffed. "We may be stranded but I am still a ranking officer."

"And…you are invited to call me…by my title as well, officer," Machiel said with a hint of ire. He was still too weak and dazed to muster up any real anger.

Rhiannon tilted her chin up. "I would rather not, seeing as you're the one responsible for this disaster, pilot Worch."

Machiel, grunting, looked at the lonely hull of the Chantilly, hissing quietly with steam, already looking like a part of the mountain in the murky glow of night. It wasn't an old craft; rather, he and the rest of the pilots in the fleet liked to say it was 'well-loved', but of course that couldn't be said now. Its entire belly and fore were smashed in and turned into scrap metal and the aft thruster had been completely ripped off. The Chantilly was destroyed. Their mission to find their sister ship was lost.

"I didn't crash it."

Rhiannon turned a disbelieving look at him. "Do you really think that you are totally innocent of blame? We were going smooth and steady and suddenly we're at a sixty degree dive headed straight for the side of a mountain! Mechanical error? I think not. Please explain this to me. Please tell me how all of this is not your fault. You were piss-drunk, Worch! Completely shitfaced!"

"We were pulled," Machiel said dully, trying to remember what had happened. "We got too close, I think. Nobody told me that we were too close."

"Wake up, bright eyes," Rhiannon said harshly. "There have been three collisions on this planet in the past three months. Neither the Inuit Science Vessel nor the Vortex Rikers were on course with this hunk of rock! And then you decided to botch our UMS rescue mission by hotdogging this entire ship closer to this planet's gravitational pull than we were advised to go. I read the logs, Worch. Yesterday you were advised to alter your trajectory. Did you even read the memo? Of course not—because you got so drunk you couldn't see straight and then decided to fly!"

"I'm a good pilot. You've flown with me before."

Her face screwed into a mask of anger. "You're sick and irresponsible, you know that, Worch? Your drunken idiocy just claimed the lives of nearly fifty people!"

Worch was silent at this, but his face turned a strange shade of green.

"What are we going to do now? Our mission to locate the Vortex Rikers just went to hell and now we're stuck here without a way to let UMS know and all you can say is 'I'm a good pilot'? How are you going to fix this?"

He was overwhelmed. His body, shivering in the windy mountain air, was drowning. He closed his eyes, blocking out Rhiannon's furious tone. How could she possibly understand how he felt? Sure, he had gotten a little tipsy the night before. Just a little. He always drank; it calmed his nerves. And maybe he had been a little shaky at the controls. But how could Rhiannon understand that it was not his error that doomed the crew? The Chantilly, normally as responsive as a yacht under his command, had suddenly shuddered and died all around him as he fought for control; he and his copilot Andy Carver, childhood friend, ladies' man and secret ceramics maker had struggled to get the ship under control amidst blaring alarms and panicked crew members. It had seemed like he and Carver were the only ones doing anything to try and save the stricken vessel and they were failing miserably and they both knew it.

"It was fun, you know," Andy had told him in the final second, when the viewscreen suddenly cleared of clouds and filled with the terrible and beautiful view of a mountain in the morning light.

"We can save her," Machiel said in answer to his memory.

"What?" Rhiannon said. She had still been ranting. "What did you say?"

"I said shut the fuck up, Ries! Jeezus!" Machiel put a hand to his pounding forehead, his pulse throbbing in his vision. "I feel like I'm gonna be sick."

"It serves your right. And another thing-speak to me with the courtesy I deserve, Worch, or I'll report your attitude, along with the fact that you've stranded and almost killed a high-ranking officer, to UMS when we're rescued. I think it's a moot point to say that they will need to know that the _Vortex Rikers _salvage mission has been completely ruined by your incompetence."

Machiel stared up at the stars. "News flash, Ries. We're not exactly in a chain of command, here. There's only two of us, we're both lost, and UMS won't know we're missing until our scheduled update window-which, last time I checked, is a week from now. You should really stop worrying about regulations and try to comprehend what has just happened. We're in a graveyard, Ries. Stop thinking about yourself and be quiet so I can think. Let's try to respect the dead."

"I want you to respect me!" Rhiannon screeched. "It's the least you can do after murdering everyone else!"

"Ries!" Machiel's dry voice echoed down into the canyon. "Just…please. Please, please, _please _be quiet. For now. Give me a minute. Just give me a minute."

Rhiannon closed her mouth and pressed her lips into a tight line, fixing her bun in anger. "I'm only being quiet so you can get your rest, Worch. I need you to be in top shape for when we try to get down from here. So go to sleep."

_You must insist on telling me what to do, don't you, you bitch_, Machiel thought, but he was exhausted and couldn't have fought off unconsciousness even if he tried. The ground was warm from baking in the heat of the newly-gone day and his head was buzzing with pain and guilt and loss. He thought it would be easier to fall asleep and to not wake up. Rhiannon was right. He was responsible. Maybe he would have noticed the Chantilly responding differently if he hadn't been so buzzed.

_Please let me die_, he thought, thinking of the last glimpse he saw of his best friend's face as they hit the mountain. Good old Carver. Smiling 'till the end. _I can't take this. _

"It looks like you're bleeding pretty heavily out of your head," Rhiannon said directly into his ear. "I'm going to go find you some bandages."

_Don't. Don't help me. _He couldn't voice his request. He was too far gone. With Rhiannon leaning like a vulture over him, he closed his eyes and drifted away.

The red-haired officer hung around his prone body for a moment, her face pinched with fear at being left awake in the dark, before she haltingly stood up and wandered back towards the crashed ship that had been her home for the past three months to see if she could salvage anything that could keep them alive for just a little bit longer.

_It was supposed to be simple, _she thought miserably, feeling tears prick behind her eyes. _Get here, tag the Vortex Rikers for tractor beam transport, and get out. And…now? Now what?_

She stared up at the sky. The moon, its cratered face impossibly close to the planet, glowed through a filmy cloud layer and cast the mountain in a soft ruddy haze. Fragments of rock in the dirt under her feet sparkled in the reddish light.

_We were flying. We were doing fine. _


	2. You Will Not Survive

II: You Will (Not) Survive

"Your destination is called Na Pali. Search sectors are based upon best estimates derived from the final distress calls from UMS 254 before impact. The sectors you will be searching are 17F through 28F, 17G through 28G, 17H through 28H…."

"Why not just search the whole planet's surface?" Machiel muttered under his breath. Rhiannon heard him but kept reading from the half-burnt pages of the spiral-bound manual in her hands. They had taken several hours that morning to reenter the Chantilly and grab what they could, but it didn't amount to much. All they had found was an emergency pack with a handful of rations, a med kit, part of a railing that Machiel had broken off to use as a bludgeon, and a manual that had miraculously avoided being burned beyond use. It was the captain's manual, and despite missing large chunks of information, they were both learning things about the planet that they would rather not know.

"Why is that thing even printed on paper, anyway? How long ago was paper communication shut down? Are there even enough trees for that kind of stuff?"

"Don't ask me," Rhiannon said, flipping through the crushed pages. "Look here. I don't remember being briefed on this. 'Beware of hostilities. Na Pali under siege.' There's a war or something going on here?"

"All I see are mountains." Machiel stopped and stretched. "And nothing looks damaged. Maybe the manual's wrong."

"I didn't think this was so much of a _search_ mission than it was a _rescue_ mission," Rhiannon mused. "It looks like nobody knew what happened to the Vortex Rikers after all."

"I still think it was stupid of UMS to send us out after a bunch of convicts."

"Hostile forces reported in high orbit and in sectors A through C, all segments, M through R, all segments, and U through Z, all segments. Proceed with caution. Use of deadly force recommended. Holy shit."

Rhiannon closed the manual and shaded her face. They had been hiking all morning and were now travelling in the quiet shadows of the canyon floor, next to the thin but fast river that barred their way from the opposite shore. The Chantilly hung over their heads, quiet, dark, and dead, and every time she looked up at it she wanted to cry. She hated being lost, she hated being with the pilot who had killed her friends, and she hated, hated, _hated _doing strenuous exercise when she was on her period. She felt pissy and hot and her whole body ached.

She was slowly walking behind Machiel as they picked their way along the rock-strewn banks of the river, trying not to trip over her own feet and wondering why she was carrying all of the heavy stuff. She slipped the manual into the pack and shrugged it higher on her shoulder, making a frustrated face when the strap rubbed against a bruise on her neck.

Her stomach rumbled and she looked guiltily down at the pack hanging at her side. She knew she should save the rations. Aside from Machiel's iron bar, they had no weapons, nothing to use for when they did come across something alive and edible. Neither of them knew where their next meal was coming from and the strips of synthesized protein and vitamin tablets she had found were not enough to sustain them for very long if they ever did run out of food. Consuming some of them now would be a waste.

Making sure Machiel was paying attention to the trail he was blazing, she slipped a quiet hand into the pouch, broke off a piece of a protein strip, and popped it into her mouth. Her jaws barely moved as she chewed. The strip tasted like copper and was gritty in her mouth but her stomach welcomed it as if it had been a sirloin steak. She swallowed her guilt along with the morsel and licked her lips.

_There's no sense in both of us going hungry_, she thought. _And besides, I've been awake for longer than he has. _

They followed the river all morning. When they finally stopped for a break the clouds were rolling in, thick and grey, blotting out most of the streaming sunlight from the twin suns. A high wind funneled down into the valley, not quite reaching the floor but drowning out the sound of the river in a constant, low moan. Listening to it made the hair on the back of Rhiannon's neck stand on end.

"I don't like it down here," she said, walking up close behind Machiel. The pilot didn't spare her a glance as he picked his way along the rocky shoreline. There was a spatter of dried blood on the back of his uniform and he kept putting his hand to the small of his back in a reflexive gesture of pain. When he didn't answer her comment, she became peevish.

"I said I don't like it down here, Worch. And another thing-why are you the one leading this particular expedition? I am the higher-ranking officer and therefore I should decide where we should go. If neither of us really know the way, the responsibility should at least fall to the one who has more experience."

Machiel stopped and turned around. His expression was a mix of incredulity and frustration. "Does it really matter in what order we walk in, Ries?"

"I am the higher ranking officer. So, yes."

"Oh good God." He stopped and made way for her along the ledge of stones they were walking over. "After you, then."

As Rhiannon walked by he muttered something under his breath. She spun and her squinting blue eyes slitted in anger. "What did you say?"

"I said don't fall on your ass!"

"You're not being respectful to me, Worch!"

"I'm just telling you to be careful!"

Rhiannon eyed him up and down. "You're treading dangerous ground, Worch. Hold your tongue next time."

Gladly, Machiel thought. He reached back and dug his fist into his side. Either he slept on a rock last night and had bruising on his spine or the crash had done him more damage than he had initially realized. He figured he had to be hurt worse than he felt; fifty other people were dead. He could not have escaped unharmed, but it wouldn't do any good to complain.

They walked on. Even with the lack of sunlight and the high wind, the heat, sealed in by the high cloud cover, rose to an uncomfortable level, and before the hour was halfway over the two Terrans were forced to stop to take a breather. The river added to the heavy humidity in the air, and Machiel stopped, removed his undershirt, and soaked it in the shallows before donning it again with a happy chuckle.

"Nothing like some natural refreshment on a hot summer day."

Rhiannon looked around, her lips tightly pursed. "Do we even know if it's summer here?"

"I dunno. Check the manual."

"I don't feel like reading it any more." Rhiannon's face twisted with impatience. Machiel met her angry look and thought that she'd be an awfully pretty woman if she didn't look like she held a lemon in her mouth all of the time. Her officer's uniform was ragged in some places from the crash but fit her well, and her sweat made the fabric cling to her curves and added a pleasant flush to her round face.

_If only she didn't look like my mother when she was angry. _"C'mon, Ries, we're not sick or very badly hurt. Let's try to look at the bright side of things."

"Like what?" _And that voice. Sweet Jeezus it's like a drill in my ear. _"The bright side of having all of our colleagues die because you were an idiot? The bright side of being totally lost when _we _were the search-and-rescue party? The bright side of starving to death?"

"That reminds me. How many rations are in that bag you found?"

"Never mind that," Rhiannon said abruptly. "Why don't we just stop messing around here and keep walking. This wind is giving me the creeps."

"It's just wind, Ries."

"Yes, well, I don't like it."

"Right. I think it's nice. It smells like the bay back home." His face grew solemn. "I wonder if we'll ever see Earth again."

"Shut up, Worch. If it wasn't for you, we wouldn't be in this mess."

He was about to become angry with the officer when she let out a startled gasp and nearly fell from the slippery rocks she was perched on. He whirled to look at her. Her face had blanched and she was pointing a shaking finger at something behind him.

"What's that?"

There was a figure coming up along the riverbank towards them. Machiel backed up a few steps, tightening his grip on the metal bar.

"What if it has a weapon?" Rhiannon hissed, clutching at his bicep. Machiel shook her off irritably.

"What do you think I have this for? Why don't you look around for something you can defend yourself with instead of panicking at the drop of a hat! Jeezus!"

But Rhiannon's legs felt like they were frozen to the slippery rocks that she stood on. She watched in terrified interest, her heart hammering in her chest, as the strange creature sauntered easily up to them. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Machiel lower his bar a fraction of an inch. _What is he doing_, she thought furiously. _This thing could kill us!_

At the last moment possible she reached down and grabbed a good-sized river rock, holding it over her head while she extended her free hand and shouted

"Stop!" as bravely as she could.

It stopped.

Rhiannon's whole body was trembling. The creature was huge. Not bulky, but tall. Taller than anyone on Earth. Seven and a half feet-maybe more, because this one had a definite slouch that curved his upper shoulders forwards. His arms-all four of them-were kept limply at his sides, and his noseless face held the dumb expression of some animal regarding a stranger. One hand dragged a mesh net of wriggling, hard-shelled creatures that smelt strongly of salt and fresh mud.

"We can take him," Rhiannon said, trying to encourage her partner. But Machiel stood up straighter and let the rod rest loosely at his side.

"I think...he's not here to hurt us," he said. His voice held more awe than uncertainty. Rhiannon stamped her foot.

"You don't know that, you idiot! He could be tricking us! Look at him! He's huge! He could break your neck!"

Machiel tilted his head to the side. The creature did the same. "...No. I don't think so."

"You don't know!"

"Rhiannon, just look at him!"

"I am Officer Ries to you," Rhiannon cried, "and I do not trust this thing!"

With that, she hurled the rock straight for her target. It glanced off of one sinewy bicep and landed on the ground with a dull thud. A red welt rose on his brown, leathery skin, and a small trickle of blood ran down to his elbow. His head turned slowly towards her and for a moment something angry flashed in the depths of his yellow eyes. Rhiannon saw this and immediately quailed.

"Worch, do something!"

"You're the one who threw the rock at him, you dumb bitch." Machiel was trying not to laugh. "I think he wants an apology."

"Are you kidding? I am not apologizing to this savage." She quickly jumped behind Worch, wringing the strap of her pack with white-knuckled hands. "Tell it to leave!"

"What makes you think I can talk to him? Isn't it the leader's job to be the ambassador?"

"No, it's the ambassador's job to be the ambassador. Now tell it to go away!"

His head hurting from the officer's hypocrisy, Machiel took a step forwards. The bleeding alien in front of him didn't seem to be anything beyond mildly irritated and a little impatient. He could hear the sounds of the creatures in the mesh bag snapping their pincers irritably. But before the pilot could speak, the alien turned on his bare heel and trudged back up the path from where he came, dragging the bag after him.

"Great, Ries, you scared him away."

"Thank God. I probably just saved both of our skins."

Watching the alien move towards a sloping path that turned a gentle corner behind the canyon wall, Machiel chewed on his bottom lip. "I'm gonna follow him."

"You're out of your mind."

"Maybe I am. But I'm still gonna follow him."

"Why?"

"Because he can probably tell us how to find some help! Jeezus, Ries, use your head! You don't know jack shit about this planet and yet you wanna stomp around like you're the boss and make enemies out of the native population!"

"He looked threatening and I acted on instinct." Rhiannon sniffed.

"I think your instinct is gonna fuck us up one day, to be honest."

As he began to walk away, Rhiannon called, "You don't even know their language! How can you talk if you don't understand him!"

Machiel turned around. "It's called hand signals and a map! Use some common sense!"

He trotted up the slope after the retreating figure, and suddenly Rhiannon found herself all alone on a rocky bank with the wind moaning in her ears and the chill of a cloudy day soaking through her flightsuit.

Miserably, she reached into her pack for another protein stick and followed the pilot away from the river, a sick feeling in her gut despite her stomach slowly being filled.

Far above them, standing precariously close to the canyon's edge like a beam of light about to break at dawn, a solitary figure stood outlined against the clouds. It watched the three figures moving slowly towards a small Nali village tucked away between the rocky walls, following them with its eyes until all three of them disappeared into a weather-worn hut with a straw thatched roof.

The clouds grew darker. It began to rain.

* * *

Sheepi: :D :D :D :D I LOVE YOU. Thanks for reviewing. I'm glad my descriptions give you at least a little bit of sense of place. All you need to know about the game is that there's DEATH. DEATH! D:

Thug: Oh, c'mon. Rhiannon's so brave. And...brave. :D Thanks for reviewing!


	3. Tunnel of Love

III: Tunnel of Love

Rhiannon did not sleep well that night. Around dawn she finally lifted her aching body off of the straw-stuffed cot that the alien had laid out for her and went outside. The air was cool, but even though Rhiannon was freezing, she refused to go back in. Instead she stood in the doorway, watching the sky turn from black to a golden gray, wiping tears out of her blue eyes.

Nali, they were called. Four arms, hunched backs, and no tempers to speak of. The Nali and Machiel had stayed up most of the night, hunched over a table in front of the fire, speaking little but apparently learning much about each other. A map had been drawn on a piece of Nali cowskin and Machiel had told her, before she dozed off to fitful unconsciousness, that in the morning, the Nali was going to take them to where there were other Terrans that had survived the crash of another ship. If they met up with the others, they could band together and somehow survive until UMS sent another rescue vessel to the surface.

_UMS doesn't have that many ships left that they can spare, though_. The thought came unbidden to Rhiannon's mind and she squeezed her teary eyes shut. _How many people can they abandon and get away with it? It's not like we're irreplaceable. _

_Well, I am. They will have to come back and get me. It is the least that they can do to repay my service to them. _

Rubbing her hands up and down her arms, she shuddered at the thought of not being found. She did not want to go where the alien wanted to take them. Despite its wild beauty, despite the crystal river and the sparkling sky, the words she had read in the captain's manual loomed in her mind, a terrible warning of something she hadn't seen yet but would probably have to face if they ventured too far into the wilderness.

_Beware of hostilities, _she said to herself. _Na Pali under siege. _

She drew her shoulders up and turned around as she heard the door open. Machiel came first, holding the map in one hand and some sort of baked fish on a stick in the other. He offered her a bite and she turned her head away. The Nali closed the door after him, a lantern swinging from his lower right arm. The quiet golden eyes flicked from Machiel to Rhiannon, and without a word he began walking. The two Terrans fell into step behind him; Rhiannon dragged her feet.

"What's wrong?" Machiel asked.

"I don't want to go."

The pilot smiled gently. "Aw, c'mon, Ries. We'll be fine. We'll meet up with some other people that only have one set of arms and we'll make it off-world by suppertime. You'll see."

The mountain dropped away from them and soon they were walking on a precarious land bridge that sloped down to an algae-green lake on the valley floor below.

"You'd better be right," Rhiannon said. "And how many times do I have to tell you to call me Officer Ries? I am a high-ranking officer—"

"Yeah. Like you'd let me forget." Machiel picked up the pace. "Like being an officer even matters while we're here."

"What did you say?"

"Nothing, Officer! Jeezus."

Rhiannon scowled and followed them. The incline of the mountain was slight enough to notice, and before they had been gone thirty minutes she was puffing with exertion. Machiel wasn't doing much better. His hand was constantly clutching his lower back and his curly hair hung in front of his face, hiding his pained expression. The Nali pressed on, carrying the illuminated lantern even though the sky was lightening to the color of stone.

In the middle of the day they came to a stop in front of a mining shaft that was illuminated from the inside by a single naked bulb that intermittently flickered harsh yellow light through the darkness. Two closed metal bulkheads, one facing them directly and another blocked by a large square dumpster of sorts, filled with dirt and bits of metal debris, barred their way further into the tunnel. A red lever stuck out of a panel next to the unblocked door.

"That's where we need to go?" Machiel asked his guide, pointing into the yawning, flickering entrance. The Nali raised his arm and pointed as well, reaffirming the pilot's question, his face plain and unmoving. Machiel turned his eyes to the tunnel, to the flickering light, to the cramped, dark space that even from here smelled like stifling metal and moist dirt.

"Fuck that. I'm not going." Rhiannon said flatly. She was drenched with sweat yet again and couldn't seem to catch her breath.

She's right, for once, Machiel thought. Sending us into a mine? Is this thing serious? "Are you sure that'll get us going in the right direction?" he asked, fumbling for the map in his pocket. He unfolded it with a faint rustle of leather and furrowed his eyebrows at the markings on the skin. There was a circle that the Nali had established as the town they had just left. The charcoal marks led through the mountain and halfway across the map to another circled landmark. Machiel looked from the map to the mining shaft and finally to Rhiannon, who was standing with her arms folded.

"It's what the map says to do," he offered.

"If the map told you to jump off of a cliff, would you do it?"

"That's not the point. I guess what I'm saying is that we don't have anywhere else to go."

"I can think of somewhere." Rhiannon's face lifted and a wistful look crossed her features. "We can just stick by the Chantilly and wait until UMS sends someone else to search for us."

"And how well did that work for the Vortex Rikers?"

The officer's face turned sour. "That was your fault, Worch. I don't expect other pilots in the fleet to be as stupid and careless as you."

Machiel ignored her comment. "Even if we did wait, how long would it take before Starlight Base realizes we're gone? We'd run out of food in a week or so and the Chantilly's hull is too far gone to use as a shelter."

Rhiannon's hand tightened on the strap of her pack at the mention of food. Thanks to her, there were only three strips of protein left. At least the vitamin tablets were still there. She could always say that the jerky had gone bad.

"So what's on the other side of this mine?" she asked.

Machiel looked at the Nali, who stood silent and still as a dead tree. "People, I guess."

"It doesn't sound like a very good guess."

"Well, we can't stay here."

"And if we go through this mine and we don't find any people, what then?"

"Then we keep searching until we do." Machiel suddenly made up his mind and stuffed the map back into his pocket. "Come on. We're going in."

Rhiannon looked up at the sky, a mix of gold and green flushed with purple even though it was the middle of the day. Steely gray clouds cast heavy shadows on the ground. She sighed.

"I'm only letting you make this decision because I want you to be responsible if UMS takes longer to find us."

"Yes, Rhiannon."

"Officer Ries!"

"Yes, Officer Ries! Jeezus!"

They turned to say farewell to the Nali, but the alien had somehow slipped away undetected and was now plodding slowly back down the slope towards Edge. The light of the lantern bobbed up and down with every step. Machiel shrugged and walked into the mining shaft, but Rhiannon took a few moments to get deep gulps of the mountain air into her lungs. The heavy feeling in her stomach had not gone away since the night before.

The tunnel was musty and dark, and when Machiel pulled the lever next to one of the doors, a terrible grinding metal noise filled the air as the hatch struggled to open. It finally made it halfway before the mechanics died and it ground to a halt. Machiel looked over his shoulder at Rhiannon, grinning weakly.

Moving cautiously into the adjacent room, the two Terrans were greeted by total darkness. They walked slowly, practically shuffling, as they noticed the walls become suddenly narrower. Machiel smacked the top of his head on the rocky ceiling and cursed under his breath.

Rhiannon smelled it first. She clapped a hand over her nose and mouth and looked at Machiel with a look of disgust. "What is that?" she choked out.

Machiel sniffed the air. A thick, sour smell clung to the back of his throat like syrup. "Something dead, probably," he said, trying not to breathe too deeply. He kept walking down the narrow passageway, turning halfway back when he realized that Rhiannon wasn't coming with him. "Come on, then! Do you like the smell of rotting meat or what?"

"Worch, shut up." Her voice was tense. The pilot rolled his eyes and put his hands on his hips.

"Oh, Jeezus, what now?"

"I hear something."

"Yeah, it's you, complaining." But he closed his lips and tilted his head when she didn't reply to his retort.

She was right.

There was the sound of something sharp rhythmically tapping on metal. Scurrying. Multiple scurrying...things.

They weren't alone.

"What kind of creatures live in mines?" Rhiannon asked.

Machiel thought hard. "Rats? Cave spiders? I don't really know about the indigenous life on this planet."

They moved slowly towards the sound of the scratching. Rhiannon gagged quietly; the stench was growing stronger as they continued down the tunnel. The walls closed in on them until they couldn't have walked shoulder-to-shoulder had they tried. A dim glow in front of them told them at they were headed to a room with a light bulb, but that still didn't make it any easier to navigate under the low ceiling and the slick metal flooring.

"What if what we're hearing is dangerous?" Rhiannon said softly.

"If it is, it certainly won't be able to see anything in this light," the pilot said, accidentally jolting his shoulder against a wall. He paused and looked back at her. "But just in case, let's be quiet until we find out what we're hearing, all right?"

"And smelling," Rhiannon muttered.

The scurrying was louder now, accompanied by soft chirrups and wet, mashing sounds. Machiel froze when Rhiannon gripped his shoulder.

"Chewing," she said, recognizing the sound. "That's _chewing._"

"Everything chews," Machiel said, feeling dread gathering in his gut. He loathed the fact that he had trusted an alien enough to think that moving through the mine would be safe. The close walls, the low ceiling of jagged rock, the dim light and lack of knowledge of any escape other than turning around to go back where they came from—Rhiannon had been right again. Trust was something to be earned on Na Pali. Next time he would not be so welcoming of a stranger's help.

They crept out of the tunnel and found themselves in a circular room. A large metal hub rose out of the floor and went straight on through the ceiling. More metal boxes were pushed against it and a flickering sign glowed foreign and unreadable on a wall.

And on the floor in front of them was a two-foot long lizard with a four-foot length of raw meat in its jaws.

All three of them froze. Rhiannon peered out from around Machiel's shoulder at the little creature. It was tiny, standing on two muscular back legs, and covered in iridescent green scales that shimmered with every fast beat of its heart. Its tail stuck stiffly out from behind it and it regarded them quizzically with its ruby red eyes. Lacking forelimbs, its powerful jaws held its prize in a vicelike grip, blood dripping down its neck in fresh rivers.

All at once the stench hit them full force, and Rhiannon gagged again. "That thing's making this horrible smell?" she gasped, pulling up the collar of her uniform over her nose.

Machiel was staring at the hunk of meat in the creature's mouth. It looked suspiciously whole and fresh. They must have stumbled upon it as soon as it made the kill. But….

"There's more to it than that," he said, trying to quell his nausea. "That's something's arm."

Rhiannon refused to look at it after that. "We're leaving right now," she said. "I'm gonna puke if we stay here a minute longer." She scooted around Machiel and began walking.

The little lizard creature dropped its hunk of meat and squealed, backing up with its head down, trying to look as small as possible. Rhiannon glanced at it with surprise, and it squealed again, in what was obviously fear.

"It's frightened of us," she said. "Poor thing. Don't worry, we're not gonna take this disgusting shit from you."

She took one step towards the lizard, carefully avoiding the meat. The creature lifted its head, its nose up. A small forked tongue flickered out from its mouth and disappeared again.

"I wouldn't get so close to it, Ries," Machiel said in a warning tone.

"It's Officer Ries, dammit," Rhiannon said, spinning around and putting her hands on her hips.

The lizard leapt forwards.

Machiel marveled at how it knew. Even as its jaws closed around the pack at Rhiannon's side and ripped it out of her grasp, he admired its agility as it lifted the heavy pack off of the ground and took off around the hub at a dead run.

Rhiannon didn't think. She turned and bolted after it, Machiel close on her heels.

"This is all your fault, Worch!" she screeched back at him.

She disappeared behind the hub, and Machiel, for a fleeting, wonderful moment, wondered if he should just turn around and let Rhiannon chase her lizard while he escaped through the mine to some semblance of freedom. It would be so much easier to travel alone.

But he was responsible for the crash of the Chantilly. He had killed all of their other colleagues. And despite Rhiannon's self-important attitude about being the acting leader of their expedition, he felt responsible for her. He would at least save her.

When he rounded the corner and almost stumbled into Rhiannon's back, he wished had hadn't already made that promise to himself.

The officer had run directly into an entire pack of the small, carnivorous lizards. Four of them were perched upon a quivering mass of meat that Machiel recognized as the specimen that their lizard's quarry had come from. The smell emanated in waves off of the hulking carcass but Machiel was suddenly too afraid to feel sick. Six more lizards stood perched on the boxes, staring down at the two Terrans with hunger in their eyes.

In front of them all, the lizard that had taken Rhiannon's pack had its head stuffed into the recesses of the canvas. It surfaced with a mouthful of dried meat, swallowing it whole. It swiveled its triangular head towards them and flicked the air with its tongue again. The tail twitched, glittering green.

Rhiannon, white-faced and breathless, took one step back as all eleven predatory gazes fixed directly on her and the pilot behind her.

"Run," Machiel said.

The lizard opened its mouth and screamed.


	4. Convergence

IV: Convergence

They emerged from the tunnel like two kicked dogs, ragged mutts limping in a weak retreat, tails tucked. Rhiannon's face was plain and unmoving but her face was streaked with tears. There were several razor-sharp bite wounds on the backs of her calves and one halfway up her thigh. The pack that she had worn at her hip was gone. Machiel, moving painfully behind the officer, kept his hand pressed against his lower back, even though there was a large ovular section of fabric and flesh missing from his hip.

The mine shaft was far behind them by now, but neither of them had really paid any attention to the stretch of time between the attack and their current state of affairs. The suns were high or low in the confusing skyscape and the breeze was lukewarm against their battered skin. Craggy rocks rose up on either side of them but the ground was patched with dead grass.

Trailing behind the two Terrans were four of the small, hungry-eyed lizards. Their three-toed feet pattered like heartbeats in the dust, and they kept a careful distance-too far away to stage an attack, but close enough to worry about.

"I don't see any more rocks we can throw," said Machiel. His hand loosely gripped the metal bar, which had been bent nearly in half by a strike to one of the lizard's backs.

Rhiannon wiped sweat from her forehead. "They wouldn't help anyway."

"I don't think they're hungry any more, though."

"I don't care."

"_Stop right there_."

They halted, freezing at the shouted order. The four remaining lizards screeched and turned tail, spooked by the noise.

Rhiannon and Machiel looked up at the canyon walls. If this was an ambush, they'd be slaughtered. When footsteps began approaching they both instinctively backed towards each other, eyes darting all around.

"Do you think we could make a break for it?" Machiel asked.

"They sound human enough but I'm not going to trust them. If we run, they could shoot."

"No, if you run, we _will _shoot."

They looked up. The speaker was standing on a rocky outcropping directly above them, pointing a strangely-shaped automatic weapon at Machiel. His brown hair was tied in a low ponytail and his face was thin and pinched. He wore a bloodstained uniform and a threadbare bag, glowing blue from within, was tied at his belt.

Two more figures, a man and a woman, appeared from the shadows of the canyon walls, unarmed but walking towards Rhiannon and Machiel with the obvious intent of looking menacing. The man had a heavy build and narrow eyes, but for all his girth his face was drained of color and he looked hesitantly, rather fearfully, up at the man on the ledge. The woman, heavily built but looking like a broken twig next to the large man, glared at Machiel.

"We should kill them, Boothe. They have a weapon."

"Quiet, Natalie!" Boothe's order was short but the woman said no more. "Patya, tell that man to drop whatever he has in his hands."

The hulking man turned to Machiel, and the pilot set his teeth.

"You can speak to me directly, you know, and I'm not putting down shit unless you stop pointing that at me," he said, gesturing with the bar to the weapon in Boothe's hand.

"You're not in any position to make demands," Booth answered coolly. "We have the upper hand here. Three to one, plus a gun, so I suggest you clean out your ears and listen to me the next time I say put down your weapon."

"Listen to him, Worch," Rhiannon said between clenched teeth.

"If I put this down, Rhiannon, there's nothing stopping them from ganging up on us."

The woman turned back to Boothe. "We don't have time to be dicking around," she said, and the others could hear the quiver of fear in her voice. "Let's just waste them and get going."

Boothe seemed to be considering it, for his eyebrows furrowed and his face twisted, and suddenly he was sliding down the front of the ledge he stood on, coming to a heavy stop in front of them. Brushing dirt off of his pant leg, he approached Rhiannon and Machiel with a heavy gait, keeping his weapon casually propped on his shoulder with his finger on the trigger.

"Stand away, you two," he told his teammates. He smiled at Machiel and held out his gun. "Do you know what this is?"

"No," he said warily.

"It's called a stinger. Nali invention, back when they were enslaved to the weapons trade for the Mercenaries. At least that's what the translator told me, but it's probably old information. It shoots Tarydium shards at 70 rounds per minute and its alternate fire can fill you with so many shards that you'd look like a cactus before my finger left the trigger. Trying to intimidate me with your broken handlebar there won't do you much good."

"Neither will trying to order me to put said broken handlebar down." Machiel said.

Boothe laughed and suddenly held out his hand. "I'm Theodore Boothe; call me Theo. These are two of my crewmates, Frank Patya and Natalie Dyer. Please forgive our manners. We've been stranded for quite a bit and tempers are getting a little short." He peered at Machiel. "You aren't a search and rescue party, are you?"

The notion was so absurd that Rhiannon started laughing. "We were, but now we're searching to be rescued," she said. "You're the first people we've seen since the crash."

"The crash of what?"

"The UMS Chantilly," Rhiannon said, glaring fiercely at Machiel, who turned away from her. "We came down about three days ago and we're the only ones left."

The three strangers exchanged surprised glances. "Another UMS down?" Patya whispered.

"We were looking for a prison ship of ours. Filled to the brim with red-level convicts. We weren't there to rescue survivors, but to see if the ship could be salvaged." Another angry look to Machiel. "That plan's out the window, though."

"We were Prometheus."

Rhiannon and Machiel met eyes. Machiel turned to Boothe.

"...Prometheus?"

A nod.

"Prometheus."

"The UMS Prometheus, yes."

"That's a _warship_!"

"Was." Natalie's voice was dry. "It's split like a dropped watermelon."

"How did it crash?"

"Probably the same as every other ship. I heard there have been ten impacts since we figured out this place existed."

"So you're looking for a way off." Rhiannon said hopefully.

"It's good that we're all UMS, though," Boothe said. "I think I can trust you, and it's good that we found you when we did. We just ran into some trouble, and if you help us, you can tag along with us."

"You mean you'll help us." Rhiannon was practically beaming.

"You gotta help us first, though." Boothe smiled. "Machiel, come with me. I'll show you what I mean. Patya, take Natalie and this woman up to the ledge and wait for my signal. You know what to do."

"How do I know I can trust you, though?" Machiel said as he unwillingly followed Boothe up the path.

"We're all Terrans here, aren't we? We shouldn't fight."

Machiel said nothing. Soon the canyon widened out and Machiel could see a large stone gateway stretching from one rock wall to the other. Peering around the boulder they had stopped behind, he saw a pool of water with a sentry tower rising out of the green depths. It was empty, but they were definitely not alone in the clearing.

It was kneeling by the pool of water, inspecting its wrist. Its back was turned to them and a thread of fear squeezed tightly around Machiel's throat.

"Is that what you need help with?"

Boothe nodded and un-shouldered his stinger.

"What is that?" Machiel asked.

"That," Boothe whispered, "is our resident nightmare."

"Are we going to die?"

A shrill birdcry from above caused both of them to jump. The stone gate was so close that Machiel could see forest-green moss growing in thick tendrils on each granite block.

"Skaarj. They're called Skaarj."

The creature rose from its crouch. For a moment Machiel thought that it was an adult of the same species as the predators that had flushed Rhiannon and him out of the mine shaft, but aside from the glittering green scales, he couldn't see any other similarities between the little lizards and the hulking monster that stood at the edge of the pool. Its bipedal, humanoid form easily stood over eight feet tall and had clawed, five-fingered hands that could have crushed Machiel's skull like an eggshell. Its muscles looked solid as marble, unforgiving underneath the liquid scales, and its heavy-browed face and tusked mouth relayed nothing but viciousness. Every once in a while its tail whipped through the air, hissing, and it tossed its head, flinging the scaly, tendril-like growths growing out of its skull behind its shoulder. It wasn't wearing armor, but Machiel supposed that, with a body that looked like it was carved from steel, it didn't need much in the way of defenses.

"We just ran into it and were retreating to find a detour when we ran into you two," Boothe told him. "We figure with five people it can't be that hard to take down."

"How do we kill it?"

Boothe checked the readout on his stinger. Grimacing, he refused to meet Machiel's stare. "It'd be difficult," he said evasively. "Do you have any other weapons?"

"I just have this." Machiel pulled the rod from his belt loop. Boothe looked at him as if he had a dead rat in his palm. The corner of his mouth twitched in a humorless smile.

"That...will not help us."

Machiel looked at Theo's sleek-looking stinger. "Then lend me one of your guns, then."

"I actually have a better idea." His eyes flicked over to where Frank and Natalie were crouched on the outcropping. With a small jerk of his head, his two teammates bent down so they were hidden by the stone. "These creatures seem to go for any kind of movement. If two of us act as bait to draw it away from the others, we could probably all give them enough time to get through the stone gate and across the bridge."

"Hey, wait," Machiel said unevenly. "I haven't come all this way to get turned into a stir-fry by this monster."

Boothe slapped him on the back good-naturedly. "C'mon, Machiel, you and I can jog faster than these lizards. D'you see all that muscle on it? It moves like a tank and isn't that agile at all. If you just keep up a reasonable pace, it won't catch you. Besides, I'm gonna stay behind too." He thumbed a lever on the stinger and a high-pitched ping issued from the weapon. "I haven't had any target practice in days."

Searching for the candy-apple red of Rhiannon's hair above him, he finally spotted his officer and Boothe's two companions edging towards the lip of the ledge, ready to jump and make a run for it. Rhiannon's face was a mask of fear, and Natalie didn't look much braver. Frank was leading them both by the hand, staring at Boothe, waiting for the signal.

"Now listen," Boothe said, inching forwards on his knees and pointing to a large, flat rock rising out of the parched grass. "We'll split up when we reach the rock. You run around it for cover and I'll take the straight path towards the gate after the others. I'll cover you when I get there and then we'll cross the bridge."

"You sure I won't need a weapon?" Machiel asked, eyeing the giant claws on the monster's fingers.

"You will be fine." Boothe's voice was firm. "We need to conserve ammunition, anyway. Are you ready?"

Machiel put the metal rod back into his belt loop and nodded weakly. His heart was hammering.

"Go!"

As soon as he stepped out into the open and began running, Machiel knew that he had just made a fatal mistake.

His first clue came when he heard Rhiannon scream, but he didn't dare turn around for fear of losing his footing. He had barely taken ten steps when the monster at the side of the pool stretched itself to its full height and in two strides and closed the distance between them.

_Shoot it, _he thought desperately, legs pumping. _Shoot it shoot it shoot it!_

But there was no gunfire. There was no sound of footsteps besides his own. Something had happened. Boothe was not running with him. _The bastard!_

Either Boothe had tricked him on both accounts, or the man had never met one of these creatures before and only knew what it was called. It looked like a tank but it moved like a tiger, and in a matter of seconds he'd be dead if he didn't think of something quickly.

He was approaching the rock, gasping desperately for air as the Skaarj closed in on him. Running up the smooth surface, he launched himself down the other side, tumbling end over end and landing directly onto his back in the dirt on the other side.

And directly in front of a second Skaarj.

It watched him for a moment before clenching its massive hand into a fist. With a sound like knives striking each other, two blades, whip-thin and long as Machiel's arm, drove themselves out from underneath the scales on the monster's wrist. It growled, its green eyes glowing.

"Shit." Machiel said.

"Machiel!" Rhiannon shrieked. "Machiel!"

"Shut up, you stupid bitch!" Natalie snarled, punching her in the shoulder. "Do you want us all to get killed?"

"He's going to die!"

"That's the point, sugar," Boothe said as they sprinted towards the now unguarded entrance to the stone gate. "Besides, we all saw the way you were looking at him. You hate his guts."

"But he was my teammate!"

"And you hated him. Big deal. He's gonna die and you're gonna live. Now shut up! Do you want to draw their attention?"

They shoved her forwards through the gate. "But why are you taking me?" she wailed.

Frank snorted. "Maybe we jus' like yer hair color!"

The three Prometheus crewmates burst into laughter as they herded Rhiannon forwards. Rhiannon turned her head over her shoulder and groaned as she saw the Skaarj that had been chasing Machiel follow him over the rock ledge.

_I'm sorry_, she thought. _I'm sorry!_

Machiel reflexively threw his hands up. He knew it wouldn't help him. He was dead anyway.

_I can't believe it. How stupid. How utterly stupid._

_I can't keep my promise. I'm sorry._

There was a roar. He flinched, curling into himself. _Here it comes._

Something had him by the collar.

And suddenly he was being dragged.

He opened his eyes just in time to see a scaly lump on the ground disappear around the bend as he was pulled away from the rock. He couldn't turn his head to see who was dragging him, but he figured it was the first Skaarj, taking back his prey from the other he had stumbled into.

He smelled algae and fish. He squirmed. Someone grunted.

Someone human.

The sky and the ground spun and then water was all around him.


	5. Surfacing

V: Surfacing

"Filthy Terran animal! There won't be enough of your carcass for even worms to feed on when I am finished with you!"

The warrior, its back hunched over as it cupped a protective arm over the bone-deep slash on its side, punctuated its threat with a clicking snarl. Warm, fresh blood coated his hand up to his wrist, but the pain of the actual wound dimmed in comparison to the rage that engulfed him when he realized that a Terran had been the one to inflict it. From the back, no less. The half-concussed slump of his patrol partner was still prostrate on the ground behind him, but he hadn't checked to see if he had suffered any similar wounds to the one he was sporting.

The Terran he had addressed was standing at the poolside, back to the water after tossing the running man over the edge. While the running man would have been an easy kill, the warrior was not much for pursuit killings. True, the order to exterminate all Terran life on Na Pali did not allow for him to be picky, but after years of chasing his prey, he was forgetting what it was like to have his target fight back. The prospect of a hand-to-hand battle made his blood run hot with excitement. There was a difference between killing Terrans and exacting revenge on them. In the latter case, one was allowed to play with one's prey.

"Are you scared, human?" His snarling question could only be understood to the Terran as wordless, gutteral noises, but the sound was intimidating enough. "Are you prepared to meet your death at the hand of one of Na Pali's gods?"

He started walking towards the armored form, who, after casting a quick glance over its shoulder, began moving backwards, towards the canyon pass. One gloved hand came up in a placating gesture and it took all the discipline that the warrior had to not dive forwards and decapitate the Terran with one spin of his razik blades. Gestures, those wordless pleas of mercy, always made the kill sweeter. He relished the desperate looks that the Nali and humans stared at him with as he slowly cut their bodies to pieces.

"There's no place to go," the Skaarj crowed, picking up his pace when he saw that the human's legs were moving faster. It was going to run. "Wherever you try to go, I will follow you, and I will find you, and I will kill you."

The Terran stopped at the entrance to the pass, turning fully to face him. Sweeping his ice-green gaze over the form, the Skaarj decided that his blows had to be concentrated on the human's torso, below the chest where the breastplate armor ended. Its head was encased in a helmet and its legs were covered with segmented casings, and while broken-kneed prey offered him great amusement, he wanted this fight to be more lively.

His target scrambled up an angled rock, loose stones pebbling their way down its face to thunk against the warrior's taloned feet. He watched, slightly amused, as the Terran raised itself on its unsteady legs and unslung a nameless weapon off of its shoulder. The outline of its body against the rust-colored sky was laughably pitiful.

"You assume that when you have the higher ground, you are at an advantage," the Skaarj trilled at her, both pairs of razik blades slicing into position. "When you are staring at your own entrails and your blood stains the ground like war paint, you will thank me for proving you wrong."

When the warrior's razik blades came out, the Terran's body siezed momentarily. Its arm swung up and in one fluid movement the trigger had been pulled and a volley of bullets burst out of the barrel. The Skaarj cocked his head, watching the bullet casings clatter down the stone, growling deep in his chest.

"You are either intensely useless, or you are mocking me."

The Terran hadn't even bothered to aim at him. Instead, it had aimed into the canyon, chunks of dirt and rock kicking up from where the bullets pinged into the ground.

From far down the canyon path, there was the sound of a high-pitched, animal scream, and then a chorus of growls that could only belong to a pack of predators that had picked up on the scent-or the sound-of prey. And since the Terran was perched high on a rock and off of the ground, the first thing the pack of carnivores would see when they cleared the pass would be the Skaarj.

And the predators did not make distinctions. Meat was meat.

Their eyes met. Then, from somewhere beneath the helmet covering the Terran's face, there was the soft sound of laughter, and a series of sharp, gutteral growls that surprised the Skaarj even more than the sound of the series of quick, clawed footsteps coming up the path.

It was speaking to him. In _Ke'skaarja_. In his own language.

"Are you scared, asshole?"

* * *

The water was lukewarm and slightly slimy and Machiel immediately inhaled a mouthful as he flailed to right himself amidst a column of bubbles. Above him, the world was green and shifting, and as he broke through the water's surface, gagging, choking, and spitting, he wondered if it wasn't just best to keep swallowing water until he drowned. How stupid was he, to fall for a simple trick like that! He had been so surprised to find other humans that he hadn't thought about the situation. Now, Rhiannon was gone, he was half-drowned, and there was an eight-foot-tall lizard monster after his ass.

After he was done expelling the water from his lungs, Machiel dragged himself out of the pool, his fingers scraping against the muddy rocks that surrounded it. His ripped suit clung to his body and the bite on his side smarted painfully, causing him to catch his breath as he stumbled to his feet. Looking around, he saw nothing but bare dirt and rock walls. Rhiannon, Natalie, Frank and Theodore were gone. They had left him to die.

"Serves me right, I guess," Machiel said aloud, just to hear his own voice. Unsurprisingly, it didn't make him feel any better. He pressed his hand to his aching lower back

_But what am I going to do now?_

He looked around again. There was no wind and the area was bright, but something didn't sound right in the silence; like there was a constant noise being made, tiny but insistent. He backed towards the stone gate, his hand going to his hip and the useless piece of metal that was tied there. The immediate clearing was empty, but there was definitely something going on that he just couldn't see. He closed his eyes and focused, ignoring the dripping water pooling at his feet.

Sounds of chewing. Again.

"God dammit," he groaned, trying to run. "Fuck 'em fuck 'em fuck 'em." His shaking legs could barely bring him to an uneven lope. In the shape he was in, there was no way he'd be able to fight off any more of the lizards, small as they were.

He was almost to the gate when the hard bark of a stranger's voice stopped him dead in his limping tracks.

"Stop."

Machiel wearily turned around. There was another Terran standing behind him with its arms crossed over its chest, a CAR slung across its back. Its Marine-issue armor was clean and looked to be in rather good repair, but the set was incomplete; both arms were bare, save for a black pair of grip-gloves on each hand, and its midsection wasn't covered by its upper body armor. Machiel decided that its build, small though it was, and its voice gave the Terran away to be a very wiry young man.

Taking in the sight before him, Machiel put two and two together. "Were you the one who saved me?"

The Terran looked down at himself and then back up at Machiel. He gestured to the pool with one gloved finger.

"Where'd the other Skaarj go?"

The Terran used the same hand to make a cutting motion across his neck. Machiel grimaced.

"How could it be dead? What killed him?"

The silent hand gestured to the pass and then back at the pool. There was a birdcall from somewhere far off and the sound echoed eerily down into the canyon.

"I know you can talk," Machiel said. "I just heard you. What's your name?"

The hand stayed pointing at the water like a statue.

"Yeah, I know. It's water. You threw me in there," Machiel said. "And then I got out. I don't exactly have time to go swimming."

The Marine's blank helmet was fixed directly on him for a minute, and then he turned away to look at the pass across the clearing. After a moment's hesitation, the Terran took a few running steps and dove into the water with a sloppy splash, spraying Machiel with slimy water all over again.

"What the hell!" Machiel swore as he stumbled back. "What was that for?"

But the figure was gone. He was alone on the bank. Obviously the Marine wasn't going to wait around for him. He looked at where the stranger had pointed again.

And now he knew why.

Six predators were making a beeline up the pass towards the stone gate, their shadows long on the hard-baked ground. One of them was so covered in gore that it shone red instead of green. They were sprinting. Towards the smell of prey. Towards him.

With a groan, he threw himself back into the swampy pool, allowing the murk to hide his body. Feeling an iron grip on his arm, he floundered before he came back to his senses and realized that the Terran had not left him behind. He felt something plastic push against his mouth and he protested, but the Terran clamped a hand around his neck and shoved it in. _It's a respirator_, he thought, as he got over his initial surprise. He stared at the Marine's mask as he pointed to the respirator, to his mask, and back at Machiel. _We're going to share it. _

Nodding his assent, he paddled his way after the stranger, not wanting to trust him but having no choice. As soon as they got to wherever they were going, he'd break off and find Rhiannon, and together they'd find a way to escape.

They swam. Near the bottom of the pool there was a large circular opening that funneled them into a series of tunnels and archways, covered with emerald green algae and filled with schools of fish whose scales flashed like glass in sunlight. The water got clearer and murkier at intervals, and Machiel, open eyes stinging, found himself staring down all the different tunnels and drainage passageways and wondering how the Marine knew where he was going.

They paused in a spot of sun-lit water, sharing the respirator of the SCUBA unit on the Marine's back, shadows of fish swimming above them casting patterns on their skin. The Marine's head was always moving, looking behind them, above them, to the side. Machiel was too taken in by the underwater beauty to pay much attention, but he was glad one of them was keeping an eye on their surroundings.

Suddenly, the Marine gave him a shove, sending his body floating up towards the submerged ceiling. Gathering his legs under him, he kicked after Machiel, launching off of the bottom of the tube as a green serpent, as algae-covered as the walls it had been feeding from, rushed past in a whirl of water. Pushing off of the floor with its muscular front arms, it flicked its tail and turned in perfect circle, scooping water out of the way with its webbed fingers as it swam towards them with the fins on its back flared.

_What the hell is that_? Machiel's panicked face relayed his question as efficiently as his spoken thought. The Marine pointed to a rectangular opening in the opposite wall and slammed the respirator back in Machiel's mouth, allowing him two great lungfuls, before pushing him towards his destination.

Machiel didn't think. He just swam. Kicking through the opening and using the walls as purchase, he moved as quickly as he could towards his unknown destination, listening to the muted pops of gunfire underwater. He only swam for half a minute before he realized he had to breathe. He could not fight the urge. _He's going to die and I'm going to drown. _He squeezed his eyes shut and swam harder.

_I can't make it. _

And then another shove on the small of his back, and he was in the open air.

He came up coughing, half-screaming, flipping onto his back, flailing like a bug.

The Marine stood in waist-deep water, a huge acid burn on the plate armor of his chest, supporting his CAR on his shoulder. It hung in ceramic chunks down to its stomach and had been rendered completely useless.

_Like me, _Machiel thought, slavering water.

The other Terran reached up and undid the straps of the armor on his chest. They fell into the water, sinking quickly. The helmet fixed its stare on him, and then the head was moving again, side to side, up, behind. Presently the Marine sloshed out of the pool, stepping over Machiel, and began walking towards a square of open light which Machiel's algae-water filled eyes eventually perceived as a doorway.

Sitting up and rubbing his face, Machiel turned his head over his shoulder. The Marine was waiting for him, silhouetted against the daytime backdrop, haloed with grey light.

"Who are you?" he asked again.

No answer. He didn't expect one.

Sighing, struggling to his feet, Machiel followed the Marine into the light, holding his hand to the small of his back.

"How the hell did you get away from that thing in the water?" he muttered.

He looked up at the sound of soft laughter from the form in front of him.

"What?"

The Marine put his finger on the place under the helmet where his lips would be.

The pilot scratched his head. "I'm Machiel," he said.

The helmet turned to him, glanced over him once.

"Just so you know."

There was a pregnant pause, with Machiel's silent sentinel staring at him with an unknown expression on his face.

Then Machiel heard the slightest intake of breath—a preparation of speech.

The Marine's hand pressed against Machiel's neck none too gently.

"I will rip your tongue out if you keep talking," the Marine's steady, low voice said, and Machiel realized, with a jolt, that the helmet had a voice synthesizer that the Terran was speaking through. This was not his real voice.

He swallowed and nodded fearfully.

"Just so you know."


	6. The Star Seeker

VI: The Star Seeker

Rhiannon had never seen so many stars.

As she followed the three Prometheus officers out of wherever they had just been-she had been carrying on and crying so hard that she hadn't taken the time to look at her surroundings-she had to squint against the light that had suddenly seemed to increase tenfold. As her eyes adjusted, she slowed to a stop and looked up, her mouth falling slack at the view. Na Pali's moon was blushing the color of a blood orange and loomed in its heavy orbit just above the mountain, balancing quietly in the sky.

And there were stars. More than Rhiannon had ever seen. More than she had even taken the time to look at. The ground she was standing on glowed silver under her feet, and in the light even the tiny hairs on her forearms cast shadows on her skin. She couldn't pinpoint one space in the night sky that wasn't backlit by their glow. The stars moved and danced and Rhiannon watched them for as long as she could, trying to give a name to the heavy feeling in her chest.

And suddenly she made up her mind.

"I will not go one more step with you."

She did not know why she felt particularly brave when she was with this group of strangers from the Prometheus. She didn't even know why she didn't want to follow her instincts and remain in a group; safety in numbers or not, she felt that she could not stomach travelling with the people who had set Machiel up to be slaughtered. She had allowed herself to be led deeper into the rocky slopes and deep canyons of this mountainous region, but now that it was midnight and they were facing a different leg of their journey, she finally decided to put her foot down. Blue eyes blazing, Rhiannon Ries tightened her hands into fists and prepared to run.

An angry look flashed over Boothe's thin face. "You aren't in a position to be making those kinds of decisions," he said. He turned halfway, his body transformed in the twilight, unsteady as a shadow.

"I will not go one more step," she repeated, sidestepping away from Natalie, who had reached out to grab her wrist. "You can't make me come with you."

Sighing, Boothe tapped the stinger against his shoulder. Strage birdcalls, sharp in the silence, stabbed at the misty air as Rhiannon waited for an answer. "What do you think, Frank?" Boothe finally asked, keeping his eyes on the officer. "Set her for bait now, or hog-tie her and drag her until we need her?"

Frank Patya looked around, his pig-like eyes squinting in the dark. They had stopped on the shores of a mirrorlike mountain lake; it was deep and wide, wrapping around rock outcroppings and went on as far as Rhiannon could see. Somewhere closeby there was the sound of a waterfall, and the ripples it was causing in the lake were the only things that seemed to separate the water from the sky. In front of them was an old wooden jetty with a boat tied to one of the pilings by a piece of woven rope. The wind was quiet and warm and the air smelled like sand and fog.

"What do you mean, set me for bait?" Rhiannon asked, looking from one to the other. "If you think you can use me like some sort of sacrificial animal like you did with Worch, you've got another thing coming! I won't stand for it! I am a UMS officer! You can't do this to me."

"If we cross the river, we'll have that much more space between us and them. It'll be a waste to just leave her here. Besides, she might be tempted to drown herself and then we'll have wasted her."

Rhiannon winced and stepped back, disgusted at the way they were talking about her. "I'm not some scapegoat you can dispose of when you feel like it," she said, shoving away another grab attempt from Natalie.

"Actually you are," Boothe said stonily. "That's why we brought you along. If you can't defend yourself you're better off saving somebody else's life. At least your buddy Machiel helped us get away from those two scouts." He slung the stinger over his back and stepped into the shallows of the lake. With a few deft twists of his fingers, the rope that tied the boat to the jetty was free, and as he uncoiled it in his hands he approached Rhiannon, who suddenly found herself sandwiched between Frank and Natalie. She tried to elbow the latter in the face, but got a swift blow to the gut in return for her missed attack.

"Hold her good," Boothe said, approaching her with the rope. "And be quick about tying her up. We don't want the boat to float away."

* * *

Machiel was getting nervous.

He didn't know how long they had been walking, but it felt like he had been following the Marine all night. They were moving through a jagged tunnel that cut through the mountain; they had to be close to water because the tunnel reeked of the smell of fish and mud. The ground was sopping wet and sucked at his boots with every step, and more often than not he was bent in half trying to squeeze between razor sharp rocks and force himself through rough spaces between stalagmites. The tunnel reminded him of the mine shaft and he found himself continually listening for the sounds of hissing and squealing. Exhausted, injured, with his stomach twisting itself into hungry pangs, he followed the military stranger on unsteady feet, wondering and worrying.

And still the Marine walked on, glancing over his shoulder in intervals that were constant but few and far between. Machiel didn't know whether or not the Marine knew exactly where he was going, but he moved with a purpose, slow and methodical and steady; Machiel trusted him enough to follow, but with every step he took away from Rhiannon, a pang of guilt dug deeper into his conscience. What was the Prometheus crew planning to do with her? He could certainly retrace his steps and try to go from where he had last seen them headed, but who was to say that he would survive alone that long? He could, perhaps, talk the Marine into helping him, but after being threatened with the loss of his tongue, he didn't feel that free to speak.

So he followed, silent and shivering, until what seemed like hours later the tunnel opened up into a cavern, glowing a mysterious shade of blue so intense that it hurt his eyes after the darkness he had walked through. The Marine's boots, heavy but miraculously silent, squished to a stop. He held his hand behind him, keeping Machiel from passing by. The pilot nodded, squatting down at the entrance to the tunnel.

The Marine, hesitant as a deer stepping into the open, took a few small steps onto the bank of the cavernous lake. The water shifted and winked, glowing false blue. Looking up, the Marine regarded the boulder sized, un-mined shard of Tarydium that stuck out of the rock wall, unabashedly illuminating the area with the light of its ore. After a slow pause while his head moved up and down and side to side in its familiar search pattern, the Marine motioned to Machiel to come out of the tunnel.

Getting up, brushing clumps of mud off of his pants, Machiel stood by the Marine's side, looking at the crystal clear water in their cavern. A crossbreeze let him know that there were openings in the immediate area; one was blocked by a wall of water, and the other led out to the rest of the mountain lake, covered with a thick blanket of fog in the night.

Meanwhile, the Marine had crossed his arms over his chest, tapping his fingers on his bicep. Machiel looked at him for a moment and then dared to ask a question. "Where to next?"

The Marine shushed him, his quiet hand going to his mouth, before he pointed across the lake at the opening that was opposite the waterfall. Machiel followed the gesture and squinted out at the foggy water.

There was a dark shape coming towards them. He could hear soft splashes and the rhythmic sounds of wood knocking against wood.

"It's a boat," he said aloud. "Someone's coming."

Quickly he ducked back into the tunnel, followed closely by the Marine. Together they waited for the boat to drift into view, but Machiel, his hand cupped around his ear, began to distinguish voices, and he realized with a pang that he recognized who the hushed whispers belonged to. He ground his teeth in anger.

"It's Boothe," he mouthed at the Marine, but if the military man understood him he gave no indication of it. Instead he unslung his combat assault rifle and thumbed off the safety.

The voices were louder now, amplified as the boat drifted through the cavern towards the waterfall.

"…wasn't going to stick around while they were at the crash site," Boothe was saying. "I'm willing to take responsibility for what might happen to us out here. It was a miracle we made it out when we did."

"I don't think the distress signal took, though," Frank said, his voice thick in his fat throat. "The dish wasn't even set right when the power went down. We could be running around down here until we die—"

"Then that's what we'll do, God dammit, but don't you dare express the desire to go back to the Prometheus when you don't have a clue of what those…things…were doing there!"

At the mention of the ship's name, the Marine's body stiffened and he stepped out into the Tarydium shard's blue light. Machiel panicked and made a grab at his elbow, but missed and landed on his stomach with a loud "Oof!"

Everything happened so quickly that Machiel had trouble keeping up with the movement. Boothe, apparently forgetting that he was in a boat, jerked to his feet and fumbled with the stinger on his back, dropping heavily to his knees and losing his grip on his gun as the boat almost tipped him overboard. The stinger landed in the water and sunk to the bottom. The Marine dropped directly into the waist-deep shallows, reaching out with one gloved hand and snagging the boat, hauling it out of the strong current with an audible groan, throwing all of his weight against its bulk. The bottom of it scraped the sandy bottom of the lake and stopped with a crunch. In the same movement, the Marine's CAR aligned itself neatly with Boothe's skull. Frank and Natalie, ready to jump into the water to immobilize the Marine, froze their movements as they realized the danger they were in.

Machiel, sheepishly getting to his feet, scanned the inside of the boat. There was a motionless lump lying between two of the seats, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw a flash of red hair. Rhiannon was tied up, gagged, and apparently unconscious, but she was there. Alive. He slipped into the water next to the Marine, gasping a little at how cold it was. Reaching the side of the boat, he nudged Rhiannon's shoulder with his hand.

"Ries," he said, ignoring the looks he was getting from the Prometheus crew, "get up. It's me."

She didn't move. Machiel sighed and reached in with both arms, getting a good grasp on both of her shoulders so that he could yank her into a sitting position. When he managed this, he saw that her face was bruised and cut in several places, and he couldn't help but glare back at Boothe. "Did you have to beat her up, too?"

"Can you get that fucking gun out of my face?" Boothe demanded of the Marine. "I think it's safe to say you have the upper hand now."

"Don't do it," Machiel told him, pulling Rhiannon out of the boat with some difficulty, accidentally submerging her head in the cold water. When he pulled her up, she started choking and failing desperately. He had to duck to avoid getting punched in the head. Depositing her on the bank in a hurry, he leaned over her, pinning her arms, trying to get her to recognize him.

"Ries, it's me! It's Machiel! Calm down, you're hurting me!"

Her body stilled and she peeked on eye open to look at him. "Are we dead?" she asked.

He grinned at her. "Almost."

"Where are the others?"

"They're right here. But don't worry, we're taking care of them."

"We?"

Machiel looked up at the Marine. He still hadn't lowered the gun.

"I said, get that fucking thing out of my face!" Boothe was nearly shouting now.

The Marine's mechanical voice filled the cavern. "You are from the Prometheus."

"Yeah, we are," Boothe sneered. "Not that it matters to you, whoever the hell you are."

"I am looking for your ship."

"You with these two clowns, then?" He asked, pointing to Rhiannon and Machiel.

"That doesn't matter. I am looking for your ship. Where did it go down?"

"How should I know? Although I'd probably try to remember a lot better if you got that gun out of my face."

"I do not trust you."

"Well, I don't trust you. The Prometheus was carrying highly classified information and I'm not going to tell some UMS gunslinger where sensitive information lies."

"I have been ordered to find it."

"Well, too bad for you. I don't feel like helping you very much, especially with you waving that loaded weapon in my face."

The Marine paused, and then the taut arm relaxed and drew the CAR towards his chest.

It was then that Machiel noticed that Natalie was holding something long and slender and metallic in her hand and his mind told him that it looked incredibly familiar, just like the bar that he had been using, and his hand went automatically to his hip and he cursed when he realized it wasn't there.

_How could she have taken it off of me; I didn't even notice_—

His mouth was already shouting the warning. "Look—"

Natalie's arm was arcing down through the blue air, the bar flashing like a knife, headed straight towards the Marine's head, and Frank Patya was leaning towards the Marine, his fists clenched, and—

Three shots.

Machiel didn't even see the gun come up. He blinked, and in the space of a second, Theo Boothe, Frank Patya, and Natalie Dyer were in the water, and the water around them was turning black in the false blue light.

Boothe said, "Oh," and his body jerked a few times, his hands curling into claws.

It took Machiel a moment to process it, and when he did, he felt sick. He watched the Marine climb out of the water, looking at the gun and then at him and Rhiannon.

"You killed them," he said numbly. The Marine looked at him and away, his head moving up, behind, side to side. Wordlessly he began walking towards the waterfall.

Rhiannon propped herself up on her elbows. "Who is that?" she asked.

"I don't know." Machiel helped her to her feet. "He helped me."

"He killed them," Rhiannon said. "He didn't even give them a chance."

"Are you serious? Did you want to stick around with them?"

Rhiannon chewed her lower lip, watching the three Prometheus crew members sink to the bottom of the clear water. "Why is he looking for the Prometheus?"

"I don't know. That's the first time I heard him hold a conversation."

Rhiannon looked at the water again. "How could he kill them like that?"

Pressing his lips together, Machiel stared at the silhouette of the Marine against the waterfall. He was waiting for them.

"I'm glad he did."

The Marine, listening to their hoarse whispers, squared his shoulders and waded through the waterfall and out of sight.


	7. The Ghost in Glathriel

VII: The Ghost in Glathriel

"Let me go! God damn it, you piece of shit, let go of me!"

The Skaarj warrior had to admit, the Terran had spirit in him. Then again, all of the small-eyed, shrieking little bastards did. Fear and desperation gave them uncanny strength, even after they had been starved and beaten for weeks. The warrior had taken a peculiar interest in his band of mangled prisoners that had been festering in their cells, even to the point of learning their names and twitching his translator chip to their language so he could understand the insults they hurled at him when they thought he wasn't listening. This particular creature's name would soon be forgotten to him, anyway. All of the Terrans that he had corralled from their fallen ships would, sooner or later, meet the same fate as this one.

"Still yourself!" To emphasize the point, the Skaarj rammed his fist into the human's solar plexus. The man bent in half and made a horrible choking noise, which caused the warrior to laugh. They acted so feeble when they were struck. It was both disgusting and comical; they were so different, so inferior to his own species that he had often wondered how much of a threat they actually posed to the empire.

Grabbing the suffering human around the neck, the warrior dragged him down the ramp that led from the cells to the Red Chamber beneath the Nali castle that had been so long in his tribe's grasp. _Shehu'lora_, the Nali called it. The Place of Good Lore.

Meeting another of his clan at the foot of the ramp, the warrior tossed the human down like a sack of grain. It groaned at his feet, writhing, holding its stomach. "This one has not talked and will not talk," the warrior said to its companion. The other growled, nudging it with his foot. "His time is up."

The Terran pushed himself off of the mossy stone floor. Perceiving where he was, his eyes flashed with defiance and he spat to the Skaarj, "I told you, I know _nothing!_ And even if I did, you sons of bitches wouldn't get anything out of me, anyway!"

The second Skaarj purred low in his throat. "We will give you one final chance, Terran _zar'chi. _Tell us if you have ever seen this particularly worthless human, and we will set you free."

The monster keyed open a hologram disk in his hand and jerked the man's head up by his blonde hair so he was forced to stare at the flickering green image.

"I don't know who she is! I've been telling you for weeks! She's not from my crew, she never was!"

The Skaarj chittered and snapped the disk closed. Meeting the eyes of his clanmate, he shrugged.

"Dispose of him. We've wasted enough time already."

* * *

The village lay as quiet and still as a stone next to the mountain lake. The wind off the water was deflected by a high rock wall that ran its perimeter around the settlement, but a path had been worn in the soft dirt next to the lake and wound its lazy way through a space in the wall and into the township. An empty fishing hut, lit by a single candle, sagged by the waterside; the bench and table inside were empty. After searching the immediate vicinity, the Marine waited for Rhiannon and Machiel to catch up and then they made their way towards the main road, which was paved with smooth white tiles that shone in the soft light of the Tarydium shard lamps lining the pathway. The three Terrans took a moment to regard the first healthy-looking settlement they had seen. Whitewashed walls, crisscrossed with dark amber beams of wood, rose around them in friendly familiarity, and the windows of several of the houses were flung open to the air, letting out the elusive smells of incense and woodsmoke. A fenced garden was planted next to one of the houses on their right, and wordlessly the Marine slipped over the fence and picked three vibrant red spheres from one of the plants growing from the tilled soil.

"What is this?" Machiel asked when one of them was placed into his hand. It was fleshy and had a smell akin to mangoes and strawberries; his mouth immediately began to water. He looked over at Rhiannon; she was staring at it mistrustfully. The Marine, in answer, lifted the bottom part of his mask, slipped the fruit into his mouth, and immediately fixed his helmet back into place.

"How do you know it's not poisonous?" Rhiannon asked. Machiel put the fruit to his lips and bit off a small part. It tasted like it smelled, acidic and fresh. "I don't think they'd grow poisonous fruit, Ries," he said with a small smile. His spirits were rising already; he felt refreshed somehow. "Just eat it," he told her.

Rhiannon's eyes fixed on the Marine; her hand suddenly clenched around the fruit and she let it drop to the ground. "We should try to find someone to help us," she said, brushing past both of them to knock on one of the doors. The sharp taps rang into the air, but no one answered, despite the cheerful golden light pouring out of the window above the door.

Machiel bit off more of the fruit, looking from the Marine to Rhiannon. What was her problem with him?

Rhiannon tried the handle of the door; it didn't budge. Sighing heavily, she threw up her hands and glared at Machiel. "Well, that's great. The lights are on but nobody's home."

She tried more doors; all of them were locked. Following the white road, she ran her hands over each and every door, tugging the polished metal knockers, trying to find some house that was open. There were none. The streets began to look the same to her and quite soon she was standing at a crossroads underneath a Tarydium lamp in the center of town.

Machiel came up beside her, leaving the Marine behind to stand near the corner of one of the buildings.

"I feel trapped," she said dully, looking at him. "We need to leave. This place gives me the creeps."

Machiel smiled, his curly hair falling into his eyes as he shook his head. "I think the entire planet gives you the creeps. Don't worry, Ries, I think we'll be fine if we stick with—"

"No."

"What?"

"We need to get away from this man as soon as possible. We can't trust him."

"But he just saved you! He saved me!"

"I didn't have any love for those Prometheus bastards either, but did you see the way he just killed them when they didn't listen to him? If I learned anything from Boothe it's that people don't help each other out on Na Pali. They _use_ each other. If we ever become a burden for that Marine, he'll kill us just as easily as he killed Boothe and the others. Don't you use your head in these situations? He's probably keeping us around until the going gets tough and then he'll fuck us over!"

Machiel was silent for a moment, and then he shook his head. "He's a Marine. He's trained for situations like this. He's on a rescue mission for the Prometheus and I'm sure he's helping us because it's his duty to help stranded—"

"He's not a Marine!"

Her harsh whisper sent a chill up Machiel's spine. "What do you mean?"

"In the cavern," Rhiannon said, her face crumpling with something akin to fear. "When the Marine was holding the gun up to Boothe's face, the back of his shirt lifted up a little bit and there was a black bar running down his spine. I thought it was a shadow but I kept staring at it and I realized that it was an ID barcode. You know—the kind that UMS tattoos its cargo with."

"But UMS doesn't ID tag its Marines on the spine."

"Like I said. That's no Marine," Rhiannon repeated, staring at the subject of their conversation. "He doesn't even have a full suit of body armor. I don't know who he is, but I don't like the fact that we've become so dependent on him. We need to leave him behind."

The pilot sighed heavily, rubbing his palm over his face. "When do you want this to happen?"

"As soon as we can."

The Marine walked up to them. Machiel noticed with some surprise that he had his CAR in his hands.

The Marine said, "We might be too late."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Rhiannon asked.

Holding up one finger, the Marine took one step away from them. The movements of his head had stilled and he was staring straight above them, at the dark wooden roof of the house across the street. The air had stilled; Machiel noticed that he was holding his breath.

The Marine walked cautiously around the corner of the next street. Following him, Machiel started when his boot knocked against a hard piece of wood. He stopped short; Rhiannon nearly collided with him.

He had stepped on the splintered remains of a support beam that was lying in the middle of the clean white road. There was a hunk of metal a few paces to his right, and a few books were spilled here and there on the street.

"What on Earth…." Rhiannon breathed. Machiel looked up. The few pieces of rubble he had seen led to the remains of a large square building, smashed in at the middle, doors buckling in their archway frame. A small part of the front wall had held up sturdily enough, but the planks of the ruined roof stuck up at odd angles like twigs, and the side walls had tumbled down so that the street that ran past the building was completely blocked with pulpy wood and rubble and the charred remains of carved shelves and leather-bound books.

The Marine stood directly in front of the mess, peering at something in the gloom of the destroyed house.

"What's in there?" Machiel breathed.

The Marine, in answer, walked up to the building and yanked one of the leaning doors open, gesturing for them both to follow. The inside of the building had been completely gutted by a fire. The walls were blacked and smelled like ash, and the staircase that led to the upper floors had crumbled to bits.

And sitting in the middle of the destruction like an altar was a twenty-meter wide and equally as tall chunk of starship hull that sat in a crater of splinters in the middle of the ash-darkened room. It was bent and twisted and its sharp edges dug into the once carpeted floors. Upon its friction burnt surface, Machiel and Rhiannon could make out the sketched letters "US".

"I'm close," the Marine breathed reverently, putting one gloved hand on the hull. "It's here."

Machiel and Rhiannon exchanged looks. After a pause, Machiel nervously cleared his throat. "So, earlier we heard you saying that you were looking for the UMS Prometheus. Are there more people like you on Na Pali? Searching for the ship, I mean."

The Marine turned to them. "None like me," he said, and Rhiannon shuddered to hear him talk. It sounded like a warning.

"Why just you?"

The Marine gestured to the sky, visible above the jagged remains of the ceiling. "There are eyes watching out for me."

"So, ah, why do you need our help?"

The Marine cocked his head, and then a small sound came from the voice synthesizer and Machiel realized that he was laughing. "I don't," he chuckled, pushing past them and into the open air.

Machiel looked at Rhiannon. She raised her eyebrows. "See?" she mouthed. They returned to the sugar-white street, sticking close to each other and giving the Marine a wide berth as their companion surveyed the destroyed area.

"We'll have to go around," he finally said, fairly trotting down the street. When he realized that Rhiannon and Machiel weren't following him, he turned slowly, cocking his helmeted head to the side.

"Why do you need us to come with you?" Rhiannon asked bluntly.

The silence between them was punctuated by the mountain wind. From somewhere far off, a Nali rabbit calf cried out. Rhiannon could see the glow of the stars in her peripheral vision but she kept her eyes on the Marine, whose armor was glowing in the light of the lamps, polished as an opal stone.

"I think you're looking for pardon," the officer said, her nasal voice accusing. "You decided to rescue two higher-ups because you've done something wrong. Either that, or you're planning to pull the same stunt that Boothe tried to do. I'm telling you right now, whatever you're thinking, it won't work. Sooner or later we'll find out who you are and what you're up to."

Machiel, at a loss for words, ran his fingers through his hair and sighed heavily. "Please understand," he said. "It doesn't make any sense. I mean, we're thankful to you, but all we're doing is slowing you down. There's got to be a reason for what you're doing."

"So which is it?" Rhiannon asked. "Are you looking to get on someone's good graces by playing the good Samaritan, or are you planning to set us up when we get to the Prometheus? I heard what Boothe was talking about—it's being overrun by monsters. You need some way to distract them, don't you?"

The Marine walked towards them. The helmeted head moved from one side to the other, regarding each of the Chantilly officers from behind the tinted eyepiece.

"There are two types of monsters on Na Pali." The mechanical voice was cold. "The ones you know, and the ones you don't." The gloved hand lifted to rest on the Marine's thin upper body armor. "If I have not made an attempt to kill you, you cannot rightfully regard me as an enemy." He leaned closer. "But if I ever raise my hand against you, you would be wise to cut me down where I stand. To make any other assumptions about my character and my motivations is a waste of your time."

Rhiannon spluttered for a moment, and Machiel couldn't help but smile. The Marine turned on his heel and began picking his way over the rubble. The pilot followed, leaving his officer alone in the middle of the street.

"C'mon, Ries," he said, a small laugh in his voice. "Let's just go with him."

Stumbling over the planks of wood and the collapsed walls, Rhiannon felt her face burn with anger. She wasn't used to being addressed like that. As an officer, she hated being reprimanded, and the way Worch was laughing at her made the sting all that more irritating.

"It's Officer Ries to you, Worch," she muttered as she followed the two men down the other side of the hill of rubble. When they got down to level ground again, more of the same awaited them; cheerful sky-blue lamps lighting the way down pristine white streets that wound between clean-looking houses.

But right in front of them was a low brick wall; on the other side, halfway up a gentle slope, was a tall, dark-bricked building with a stained glass window shining above a pair of double doors.

"It's a church," she said. The Marine had already hopped over the wall before the words left her mouth, and she and Machiel had to scramble to keep up. When they reached the doors, they heard the distinct sound of unintelligible muttering coming from inside. The Marine tried the elegant silver handle. Unsurprisingly, it was locked.

"Well, that does it—" Rhiannon began to complain, but then she shrieked and nearly fell as the sound of metal slamming against wood scared the thought right out of her mind. The Marine had hefted his combat assault rifle and was rhythmically slamming the butt of the gun against the door. After three steady, bone-shaking hits, the wood crumpled and the door swung inward.

And inside were twenty or so of the four-armed creatures that Machiel and Rhiannon had met before.

_Nali, _Rhiannon recalled. Inside, the church was hazy with incense smoke and glowing with candlelight. There were no pews, and the floor was made of highly polished stone. A red carpet ran up the center aisle and ended at a cloth-covered altar, upon which sprawled a lanky, brown-skinned body that seemed crushed in at the torso. Three robed Nali stood in front of the altar, and all of the others were standing, golden eyes wide, bodies visibly shaking as they stared down the Terrans. Terrified though they seemed, they did not move.

The Marine walked straight down the carpeted aisle and was finally blocked by two of the robed Nali in front of the altar. He began speaking in a strange language, his mechanical voice clicking on some of the words, and Rhiannon looked at Machiel in question.

"Does he know these guys?"

The pilot shrugged. They continued to watch the conversation unfold; some of the Nali were whispering to themselves, and at one point the Marine, after pointing at the Nali on the altar and supposedly learning what his fate had been, walked up to the altar and put his face in his hands. The third robed Nali took the Marine's elbow and led him to an antechamber off the side of the main chapel, beaconing for Machiel and Rhiannon to follow. They did, hesitantly, looking at the huge lanky forms that surrounded them like a forest of trees as they followed the Marine into another hallway. In front of them were two double doors, blocked by two more Nali. The robed Nali spoke briefly with them and then pushed the Marine forward.

The double doors opened, creaking ominously, and a fire lit chamber awaited him. The Marine walked into the room, tracking mud onto the stone floor. Machiel leaned forwards and surveyed the small space, taking note of the full bookshelves on either wall, the low table by the fireplace that was covered with potted herbs and open satchels filled with roots. A few more Nali sat in chairs around the room, and two of them stood in front of the fire, their backs to the blaze and their faces thrown into shadow.

One of the standing Nali, wearing a heavily mended cloak that looked too short on his lanky form, held up one of his hands. The Marine stopped instantly.

"Why have you come here?"

"I think you can help me," he said, his mechanical speech somewhat halting.

"What makes you think that I have it in my power to help you?"

The Marine said, "I am sorry about the dead villager on the altar. It is because of me that he has perished. It is also because of me that your houses have been destroyed. If you help me with my task, I can prevent more needless deaths."

The cloaked Nali nodded at his companion and stepped forwards.

"Welcome to Glathriel Village. My tribe and I do not reside here, but circumstances have forced us out of our own homestead. Under normal conditions, I act as a mediator between your people and my own. My name is Baran." His face was young but his eyes held quiet wisdom.

The Marine looked at him, fidgeting. Finally he inclined his head and said quietly, "My name is Myscha."

* * *

The doors closed with a bang behind the Marine and Machiel flinched. Rhiannon grabbed the back of his uniform, breathing in quickly through her nose.

"What do you suppose is so important that they discuss it without us?"

"I don't know."

Rhiannon snorted. "This is ridiculous."

"I don't mind. We can just wait quietly until this whole business is over."

"I still don't trust him, Worch."

"Give him time. He's helped us so far. And he's right, you know. If he wanted us dead he'd have killed us by now."

The officer ran her hand through her hair. She inspected her nails. The paint was peeling off. "This is such a fucking nightmare," she muttered.

Machiel turned his head over his shoulder. "Did you hear that?" he asked suddenly. Suspiciously, the congregation of Nali in the next room had all gone quiet.

"No. What was it?"

Glass breaking. A unanimous, panicked cry.

Unthinking, Machiel was already running towards the door when he was hit from behind and knocked into the wall, unconscious. Rhiannon dropped to her knees at his side as she struggled not to fall beneath the crush of bodies running towards the front door.

"Get up, asshole!" she hissed at him, slapping his face. "We have to move—hey!"

She was hoisted into the air.

Whatever was holding her turned her around; the fabric of her uniform twisted painfully under her arms.

Gritting her teeth, she found herself facing a nightmare. Its catlike eyes regarded her in a vicious stare, and it lifted its free hand up and wrapped its muscular fingers around her neck.

And started squeezing.

The Chantilly officer gasped out one breath before her vision creased and she fell, once more, into darkness.


	8. The Heart of the Matter

VIII: The Heart of the Matter

Baran was shocked to hear his brother's name.

_Myscha. _The Terran had called himself Myscha.

Reining in the sudden flood of emotions that filled his chest, he folded his four arms underneath his cloak—_no, not mine, but the one who wore it before me has been lost to us; her sun has set and I must carry her light—_and breathed in deeply of the incense that the villagers were burning in the next room. Myscha. It had to be a coincidence. He could take it as an omen, good or bad, but then again, he had never been one to lend an ear to lore. Later, perhaps, when he had learned what this Terran required of him, he could ask the origin of the name that was offered to him. Myscha. It sounded strange in his head, would feel strange on his tongue when he spoke it again. How many years had it been? Beside him, Niori cocked his head in confusion but remained silent. He knew that his friend had questions, too.

He swept his calm, narrow-eyed gaze over the Terran that had slammed his way into the chapel with all the force of a Behemoth, hardly surprised to find that the creature looked half-starved underneath its ridiculously shaped armor. Its face was covered and the alien weapon on its back peeked over its shoulder like some strange tree branch.

"What do you mean when you say that you are responsible for all of the destruction that has befallen Glathriel?"

The Terran wrung his hands. The Nali translation of his words was quiet but firm. "What shattered the library on the main road was part of a starship that has crashed somewhere nearby. My leaders are looking for that ship, and they drop supply boxes from orbit in great swaths in order to provide me with ammunition. Once I find the ship, I will leave, and no more of your people will be accidentally killed."

Baran nodded his head, considering the words thoughtfully. "It has been several months since the ship you speak of crashed. Very few Terrans made it out alive. My sentries watched the site for days and only counted three to initially escape."

The Marine winced inwardly.

"I have very little reason to doubt you," Baran continued, stepping forward and walking around the Marine in a slow circle, "and so I shall help you locate the ship that you seek. I must only ask that you do not return here once we have escorted you away. The Mercenaries that have overtaken the site do not know about Glathriel, and we are too few to defend ourselves if you somehow track you back here."

"I agree." The Marine held his hands together, a sign of thanks that Baran was surprised to see from a Terran.

"In the meantime," Niori cut in, "you and your friends must stay and rest. We cannot offer much, but for the sacred race we will do our best."

Baran pressed his lips together with mild frustration, but he did agree; all three of the Terrans looked quite the worse for wear. He was about to lead the Marine out of the room when he heard the sound of shattering glass in the chapel , followed closely by the sound of frightened screams and—

—_oh, no—_

The Marine and Baran were both sprinting for the door when they were both grabbed from behind by Niori and two of the other Nali.

"Let go!" they said in unison. Niori shoved in front of them and spread all four of his arms across the doorway.

"We cannot afford to lose you, Baran," he said stonily, "and you, Myscha, are not fit to fight."

The Terran spat something that didn't translate into Na Palian.

"You would rather have me live than a church full of innocent villagers, Niori? Are you out of your mind?"

Something started banging on the doors that Niori was standing in front of.

"Might as well let it in," Baran said bitterly. "It certainly made quick work of the townspeople."

The Marine's, his hand instinctively moving to his hip, checked himself and made to grab the combat assault rifle.

At Baran's look, Niori sighed, and despite his better judgment, stepped away from the doors as they were shoved open.

Machiel, a dark lump growing above his eye, stood panting in the threshold. His eyes were wide and his skin was pale as paper. His body was visibly shaking.

The Marine sighed and relaxed, his hand moving away from his rifle.

Baran rushed out of the room. The chapel was abandoned and the front doors were slightly ajar; outside, the rest of the population of Glathriel filled the open field in front of the chapel. There was the thundering sound of a jet engine, and then a blast of wind and light, and all was silent. Baran ran out of the church, staring at the sky. Nothing but stars met his view.

Turning to the villagers, he demanded, "What happened?"

They turned their blank yellow eyes at him.

"Were any of you hurt?"

Heads shaking.

He turned around. The Marine was standing in front of Machiel, shaking him gently by the shoulders. The Terran looked up at the Marine and made a choked sound.

"They've taken her."

* * *

From the shadow of the column in the hallway, the pilot watched as the Marine, alone in the room, methodically removed his leg armor and his boots. The room was quiet but glowed with cheerful light; there was a roaring fire in the grate on one wall, and the only pieces of furniture besides the straw cot on the floor were a low table and a bench that looked to be made from the familiar dark amber wood. Machiel's eyes burned.

He was leaving. Just like that, he was leaving.

And Rhiannon was going to die.

Machiel squeezed his eyes shut. He was furious. He had been allowed to accompany the Marine and the Nali priest into an inn, where a map of the immediate area was marked to show where the Marine's precious _Prometheus _was resting, but as soon as Machiel requested that the Marine first help get Rhiannon back from the Skaarj that captured her, he was met with blank stares and, even worse, a dull laugh from the Marine.

"_You have to help me find her."_

"_You would be wise to come with me and forget her. I will not go back for your officer. If she was stupid enough to get caught again, she's better off not burdening us."_

"_You want to leave her to die?"_

"_I do."_

After they had been shown into their rooms, Marine had gone back to confront the Marine about his change of heart, and found the military man undressing slowly and methodically, his body stiff as if from pain. Machiel didn't care. He could wait until the Marine was unarmed and then attack him. He would kidnap him if he had to.

He had to save Rhiannon.

He had made a promise.

The armored vest he kept on, but he tossed his rifle down; it clattered loudly on the stone floor. The flight suit he wore underneath the armor was plastered to his narrow body with sweat. He sat quietly down on the straw mattress, put his helmet in his hands, and was unbuckling the snaps when Machiel felt a touch at his shoulder. It was one of the Nali, looking uncomfortable, speaking to him in uncertain, halting English.

"Food now. Leave alone, please."

Despite his frustration, Machiel allowed himself to be led down the hallway to his bedroom. This room was similarly furnished to the Marine's, and a shallow bowl of steaming broth had been placed on the table. The Nali left him as quietly as he came, but Machiel was too angry to eat. Instead, he threw himself onto his back on the straw cot, covering his face with his hands. Exhaustion seeped into his limbs with the heat of the fire, and he was soon asleep.

He didn't know how long he was unconscious, but when he awoke he saw that his soup had been either re-heated or refilled. He had tried to ignore his stomach for the better part of his journey; panic and injury had quelled his appetite, but he knew better than to let this meal go uneaten. He sat down at the table and picked up a spoonful. It went down smoothly and tasted salty and fishy on his tongue, but the liquid was wonderfully warm and calmed his shuddering body.

_I hope she's all right. Please let her be all right until we can get to her. _

Forcing himself to eat slowly, he stared full at the fire, feeling the heat prick on his hands and lips. The throbbing pain in his back dimmed a little as he focused on filling his stomach. As he ate, he thought. Rhiannon was gone, again, this time in worse hands than she had been in before. And the Marine didn't want to follow her and get her back. He shook his head. He didn't understand, but somehow, he had to talk the Marine into helping him. And Machiel was very good at taking orders but had never been one to actually _give _them. He would have to fight to save Ries. He had never been a fighter, either; this had remained painfully obvious. All these weak parts of himself he would have to change. Tonight.

Machiel, clutching his bowl of soup and stirring it absent-mindedly with his spoon, wandered down the hallway, his weight making the wooden floorboards creak. All too soon he reached the end of the hallway and was facing the Marine's room. The pilot took a few deep breaths and stepped into the room, trying not to be intrusive and telling himself that he had to do this. He was at an impass. He could either leave to find Rhiannon, or he could stick with the one he knew he could be safe with. He could keep his promise, or he could break it and be responsible for the slaughter of an entire military rescue team. He could be a man, or he could be a murderer. He set his teeth and clenched his hands around the soup bowl. He had to make this decision.

The Marine looked up from his hunched over position on the bench. His combat assault rifle was propped on the wall behind him, and parts of his armor were piled next to it. He still wore what remained of his upper body armor, and his helmet was unsnapped in the back but still covering his face. His thigh pads were in a jumbled pile on the floor by his feet.

"I have to ask you something." Machiel was thankful that his voice was plain and reflected none of the panic he was feeling. The spoon in his hand clattered against his bowl and he hurriedly put both down on the wooden table. The Marine kept staring at him, his fingers still tying the laces of his boot.

"I won't let you say no to me. You have to help me rescue Rhiannon."

He felt as though he were talking to the fire. The Marine gave no intention of acknowledging his order. Near despair, he tried another tactic.

"I know you're not an enemy."

The Marine finished his sturdy knot and brought up his other untied boot.

"And I know you're not looking for a way to be rescued like me and…and Rhiannon were. Are.

"I demand to know why you're so focused on getting to the ship instead of helping me."

Letting his boot drop to the floor, the Marine leaned back on the bench and crossed his arms over his chest. Machiel was becoming used to the slow, thoughtful way the man went about forming sentences. Somehow the false voice was soothing to his ears.

"I will tell you, if you must know, although you won't learn anything new from it."

Machiel nodded stiffly. "I'm listening."

Unfolding his arms, the Marine reached down and untangled one of his thigh pads from its partner. He spoke evenly as he strapped the armor to his leg. "Two months ago, UMS lost contact with one of its largest warships, the _Prometheus_. Headquarters accessed its final SOS logs and tracked it here, to Na Pali. The ship was carrying highly sensitive information and the officials at UMS are in a hurry to retrieve it before it falls into questionable hands." He snorted softly. "Another warship, the UMS _Bodega Bay, _was sent out to retrieve said sensitive information, but could pick up nothing but static."

He pointed out the window, towards one of the fluted lampposts that was topped with a brilliant blue shard.

"This planet is filled to the brim with Tarydium. It's the deadliest substance in the entire world. It's what attracts the Skaarj and the Mercenaries; it flutters the tracking systems of starships, scrambles their scanners, and acts like a magnet for anything that intercepts the planet's orbit."

_So it wasn't just me. _Machiel felt his knees grow weak. _The Tarydium. The Tarydium is what made us fall. _

"The _Bodega Bay_'s systemscouldn't pinpoint the location of the _Prometheus_, so they hired me to go planetside and manually locate the ship myself. When I get there, I have to find the Talon data cores, get to the bridge, and activate the ELT beacon so the _Bodega Bay _can retrieve me."

"Just you?"

The Marine finished buckling the thigh pad. "I have proven myself capable so far, haven't I?" His tone was light.

Machiel shook his head. "That's not what I mean. Why would they send _only _you?"

"I was the only one they could send."

"A UMS warship didn't have troops on board to accompany you?"

"There is another party somewhere on the surface that they sent after me, but I have not seen them yet." The Marine was still for a moment. "They have supplied me well throughout my time down here," he said quietly, almost to himself.

"What are you getting for all of this?"

Standing up, the Marine stretched his hands over his head. He did not answer.

"What's worth the risk of going alone?"

"…It's easier."

"It's easier to be alone? That's what you mean? "

No answer. The Marine once more donned his rifle and began walking towards the door. He was leaving. Machiel moved to intercept him at the doorway, holding his arms out.

"So what was the point of saving me? What was the point of killing Boothe and the others to save Rhiannon, if you're just going to let her get captured?" Machiel pointed out the open window, his body vibrating with anger. "Why would you _bother_?"

"Would you rather I not have?"

"That's not the fucking point!" Machiel wheeled and kicked the door frame. "You say you're willing to let Rhiannon get dragged off to God knows where, after all you've done for us, just because you're close to being home free at the Prometheus! You make no _sense!_"

He inhaled deeply through his nose. The fire roared to renewed life in the grate as a stray breeze from the window fanned it higher.

"You need to help us. I don't care about your orders. The _Prometheus _is not going anywhere. But Rhiannon is. And I swear to God, if she dies, then I will make you regret saving me, because I have no _worth _without her, do you hear me?" Almost involuntarily, he lunged forward and grabbed the stiff canvas of the Marine's uniform. "I will not be a murderer like you! After this, you can leave and go wherever the hell you want, but you have to help me find Rhiannon."

Calmly, the Marine pried Machiel's fingers away from his armor and lightly shoved him aside. "I can't help you. I have a job to do. I'm too close to turn back now."

"If you don't come with me, I'll force the Nali to help me."

The Marine's retreating back was like a wall, making him feel like his words were being lost to the air between them. He clenched his teeth and shouted again.

"If you don't come with me, I'll kill all the four-armed little fuckers in this village. Every single one!"

The Marine's straight form seemed to sag a bit, and he slowly faced the pilot with intimidating silence. The fire crackled and hissed as the two Terrans faced each other down in the small room, their faces flickering in the dancing light.

He was about to tell the Marine to forget it, that he would leave, when he was cut off by the cold steel of the military man's voice.

"You both make me _sick_." His head was drooping; he seemed to be staring at the floor. Machiel was taken aback.

"You are so pompous. You act like the axis of the world. The two saviors from the _Chantilly_, the new Terran gods, doubting everyone they see, demanding sacrifice when they don't get their way." The Marine took a step forwards and grabbed a handful of Machiel's flight suit, shoving him backwards into the sandy brick wall. "Do you think it matters, Machiel Worch? Do you think that your commanding officer's life matters to me? Do you honestly think that _you _matter to me?" His voice was changing; this close to the Marine, Machiel could hear the man's actual words above the synthesizer in the helmet. He sounded…sad. "Do you know how many people I managed to save? Do you have any idea of how hard I worked and how many I actually saved?"

Terrified and utterly confused, Machiel shook his head numbly. The Marine's hands trembled beneath his chin, fingers still knotting in his flight suit.

"Not one." The Marine's voice fell to a whisper. "Not one."

Suddenly, in a blur of motion and with a grunt of exertion, the Marine backhanded Machiel directly across the face. Over the buzzing in his ears, Machiel could hear the other Terran kneel down beside him and grind his face into the floor.

"A murderer I may be," he hissed, "but I have _lived_, and this place is a death-trap, from sky to sea, and when you have been here as long as I, you find yourself searching for the light in the shadows. My light is here, Machiel Worch, offered to me by military officials in exchange for my help, and I would be a fool to deny it."

_How long has he been here?_

"So you'll leave others to die so you can escape, is that it?" Machiel choked out.

"_I have done that already!"_

_All those people!_

The Marine got up with a snarl and he stalked back towards the fire. Machiel, coughing and wiping dust out of his mouth, sat up against the wall. The Marine was pacing back and forth in front of the blaze, and suddenly he fixed his eyes on the pilot.

"You don't know anything," he muttered. "God, I can't believe I'm even considering this. You are a fool."

Machiel couldn't figure out if he was talking to himself or not.

"Would you really risk your life to get her back?"

Machiel nodded. There was a heavy silence until the Marine clenched his fist and nodded to himself. When his next words came, he felt a huge weight lift off of his chest.

"Then I will help you. But you have to prove yourself first. Come with me to the Prometheus. Fight alongside me if we run into trouble. Instead of threatening me, show me that you can be useful. After we locate the Talon data cores, I will wave off the _Bodega Bay _and we can track down your commanding officer."

"But what if she dies in the meantime?" Machiel couldn't keep the fear out of his voice as he rose to his feet.

"She won't be killed just yet. The Skaarj captured her for a reason. For the next day or so they will be working to get some sort of answer out of her. We have that long to get to the _Prometheus _and back."

"Do you think we can do it?"

The Marine started towards the door. "We'll have to hurry."

"I won't be much good with helping you."

"Just try."

"You have a lot of faith in me."

The Marine's mechanical voice contained a ghost of a smile. "Actually I don't."

* * *

"Are you sure we do not need to accompany them?" Niori's voice, soft as a breeze, came from behind him on the hill. Baran shook his head absently, watching from his grassy vantage point as he watched the two Terrans make their way down the Tarydium-lit dirt path and into the mountains once more. The curly-haired man was trailing the smaller, armored one, looking rather like a lost sheep under the midnight sky.

"They have all that I can offer them, for now. If they need more, they will return."

Niori nodded thoughtfully. Together they listened to the frequent call of Nali rabbits and the soft chirring of insect wings. Niori breathed in deeply of the refreshing mountain air and said, almost as an afterthought, "His name was Myscha."

"So he said." Baran turned and, patting Niori on the shoulder, moved up the path towards the back gate of Glathriel.

"You could have asked." Niori followed him on silent feet and they passed under the archway, walking side by side on the empty street. "I know the question came into your mind."

"It was a coincidence," Baran said softly. "They would not have known, had I asked."

"It wouldn't have hurt. I'm beginning to think you really don't care to know what happened to your brother."

The corners of his lips twitching, Baran said, "Believe me, it would be much easier on my nerves if I didn't. Here's the inn. Go on and get some rest. My blood is up; I will walk for a few minutes more."

Niori paused at the doorway to the inn. "I worry for them," he said. "They are facing great danger."

Baran, drawing his ragged cloak higher on his bony shoulders, turned his eyes to the stars.

"Yes, they are. But we both know what enigmas Terrans prove themselves to be. They are small, Niori, but they are strong."


	9. A Crack in the Armor

IX: A Crack in the Armor

Rhiannon was falling again.

_Someday_, she thought, trying to move her arms, to reach out for something to hold onto, _I'll have to grow wings_.

Her body was weightless, tumbling, and she was starting to feel sick before she was dimly aware that she wasn't falling at all, that there was solid and slimy ground beneath her body, that she had never been flying and had never been free.

There was dark all around her, lurking all around her body like water or a bad memory. She knew she wasn't wholly awake but she didn't move, barely breathed, for fear of waking herself further and learning that the darkness was real. In the back of her mind, though, she knew; she squeezed her eyelids tighter together.

The air smelled like blood.

_What happened to me?_

She remembered something choking her. A Skaarj. The last thing she had seen had been its ugly face pushed close to hers, snarling at her as she lost consciousness. She winced at the terrifying memory; the clatter of chains punctuated her movement.

Her eyes opened. The darkness did not change. She moved her head slowly, from one side to the other, her eyes wide open and unblinking. The column of her throat ached from where the Skaarj had grabbed her, and her arms felt stiff and heavy at her sides.

_Where am I?_

She had been taken. She had been knocked out and kidnapped. She had been spirited away into darkness by a monster. She didn't know whether to cry, scream, or panic. The darkness around her was like a mouth, sealed shut around her body; any minute now it would cave in and crush her.

"Machiel?"

Quiet. Rhiannon blinked once or twice, trying to ignore the prickling behind her eyes. _He could be asleep_, she thought desperately. _This feeling isn't me being alone. I'm just scared. I'm lost. I'm—_

_—alone._

She folded her legs towards her body and the chains rattled again.

"Ah!"

When had her breathing gotten so heavy? Her heart thudded in her stomach as she groped in the darknness, dread adding another weight to her shoulders as her fingers closed on something cold and hard and heavy clasped around both of her ankles. Her hand came up, carrying with it the length of chain that coupled her legs together. Biting back a sob, she used her free hand to encircle the metal shackle around her wrist.

A prisoner. A prisoner in the dark.

Dropping the chains onto her lap, her face crumpled in grief, and the proud Chantilly officer crawled to her hands and knees. She was able to shuffle her knees forward twice before the chains pulled taut with rattling certainty. Legs shaking, she put her hands on the floor and managed to get to her feet. Unsteady as a newborn horse, reaching out blindly for anything to get a measure of distance, her fingers met nothing but air. She turned, figuring the chains had to be attached to something, and felt a wall behind her. Her fingers met one of the metal plates that one of her chains was attached to. She picked up one of the chains and tugged on it. The plate didn't budge. Closing her eyes, she ran the chain through her fingers. There was roughly three feet of give in the metal on each of the four lines that she was pinioned with.

Rattling. She was making so much noise. Someone—something—was bound to notice. And if the monster that had brought her here was listening for her—

She clamped her lower lip between her teeth. And sniffed. And sniffed again.

_Oh god please don't cry they'll find you—_

She choked on a loud sob.

It was as if she had broken a spell.

"Holy shit, is Luthienne crying _again_?"

The sharp voice, spoken in a sharp English lilt, scratched the empty air like nails. The overly loud question was answered by a series of groans, coming from all directions with varying degrees of volume, like they were coming from behind walls.

A woman's voice, husky and raw, rose above the others. "That was not me. _Mudak._" It took Rhiannon a moment to pinpoint her accent as Russian. She sat as still as she could, rejoicing in the sound of neighboring people in chains. She wasn't alone, at least.

"Could'a fooled me," the first speaker shot back. "Did anybody else hear some bitch suckin' snot here? I could'a sworn—"

"Who cares who it was." Another Russian. His voice was weary, heavy. Old. "Stop terrorizing Luthy, for God's sake."

"Ah," Rhiannon cleared her throat, awkward once more in the silence. "It was me."

Soft murmurs. She figured that there were at least five others besides herself.

"Fresh meat, eh?" Denny's voice wormed into Rhiannon's ear like a snake. "Which cell ya in, cookie?"

Rhiannon clenched her hands even though she was shaking. "My name is Rhiannon Ries, and I am an officer of the Unified Military Service rescue ship _Chantilly_," she said. "I don't know where I am because it's pitch black, so could you do me a favor and be respectful and fill me in?"

"Love to," Denny said, "but can't. We don't know shit about where we are ourselves. Haven't seen a bit a' sky for weeks. Maybe a month. You lose track of time when you're chained to the wall in an alien installation."

"You've been here for a month?" Rhiannon couldn't keep the horror out of her voice.

"Yes." The Russian man was speaking now. "But we have been in Skaarj captivity for much longer. There were many more of us, all from different ships, but that was before the Dark Arena was abandoned and we were shipped here."

She knew nothing of the building, but hearing the words made Rhiannon shudder. "Where are you from?"

"Inuit. The _Kran._"

"But that went missing _two years _ago!"

She heard a thin string of laughter from what must have been Luthienne.

"What are they keeping you for?"

"When we were in the Dark Arena, we were only prisoners of war, but now the Skaarj seem to be searching for something and need some sort of Terran expertise."

"They're askin' questions, apparently." Denny sounded bored. "A couple days ago they whacked Andres for not offering up some information. Poor bastard didn't even know what they were talking about. They'll probably give you the same treatment when they realize that you're awake."

"What are they looking for?"

A pause. Luthienne was the only one who bothered to answer her, her voice shaking like a leaf.

"…We don't know for sure. But we've heard…things. From…all sorts of people. The Nali. But…it seems silly, to us…that they'd…the Skaarj…would still be around after…after what happened."

Rhiannon was breathless. "What are you talking about?"

"We think…that something…some_one_...made it off-world, but before they did…they…they killed her."

"Killed who?"

"The Queen."

A rude screech of metal. Rhythmic footsteps. A snarling sound that nearly paralyzed Rhiannon with fear.

"Good luck, cookie," Denny whispered.

Rhiannon stood up. She didn't know why she did. She felt the weight of the shackles on her limbs, cold and terrible.

She was an officer. She had to be brave.

The barred door in front of her swung open with a sound like a scream.

And Rhiannon Ries faced day one of her interrogation.

* * *

An hour into their renewed journey into the mountain, Machiel finally figured out where the source of the annoying, sharp sound that he had been hearing the entire time was coming from.

He dropped back a few steps to walk behind his companion, dropping his eyes to where the Marine's hand was. There.

_Shick. Shick. Shick._

The Marine was holding his arm at his side, his gloved fingers tightly wrapped around the hilt of a knife that was nestled in a thin pouch on his outer thigh. Every time the Marine took a step, the knife would be pulled out of its sheath with a small _snick. _He never fully removed it, though, and the soft music of metal seemed to convey the military man's restlessness.

Their pace was fast enough for them to keep warm in the cold night air of the mountain, but after his rest and the meal that he had eaten, Machiel didn't feel as bad as he did before. His back was a little sore, but he was used to the twinge of pain every other step. Besides, he was preoccupied with worrying about both Rhiannon and what might happen to him when he reached the Prometheus. The Marine expected him to fight. He snorted inwardly. He would try, of course, if he didn't run away screaming first.

The footpath they had been following curved gently and dipped into another cave. The pilot rolled his eyes. If he ever got off this planet he'd be a certified spelunker.

"I'm not a big fan of this either, Mac," the Marine said as they slipped into the wet semi-darkness. From somewhere in the recesses of his uniform he pulled out a flare and struck it. Harsh red light filled the cavern, and Machiel squinted against it. Speaking over the hissing fire, the Marine said, "I'm used to it, of course. Maybe that's why."

"How'd you get so used to it?"

The Marine didn't answer.

The cavern was small and relatively shallow, and before the flare had burned all the way down they had already reached the other side. The mountain towered over them as they made their way up a gently sloping, grassy hill. A wooden gate led them past a jagged boulder and into a small clearing with three abandoned Nali huts. Machiel sniffed the air tentatively. The normally clean mountain air carried with it the sharp tang of metal and the sour aftertaste of fractured starship fuel cells. He was about to ask the Marine if he thought they were close when the Marine put his finger to his mask in the 'quiet' gesture.

The sound of venting echoed somewhere close by.

Suddenly the Marine was running, boots slamming into the dusty ground, gear slapping against his back. Machiel followed him, his hand pressed to his back. Behind one of the huts, in the space between two mounds of rock, there was a clearing that allowed him to see all the way down into a huge valley that sat at the foot of the mountain range. The ground between the boulders dropped in a straight plummet down to the floor of the valley, and the wind that bucked up from the floor was nearly gale-force.

But nestled in the valley, a dark glowing gem under the stars, was the Marine's prize.

The _Prometheus_.

Machiel's heart filled with horror at the sight. From up here, the mighty military ship looked like a child's toy that had been violently broken underfoot. Great sections of the hull had apparently burned completely away in reentry; in one missing section of the ship he could see every single deck inside. Its pitiful solar lights were still on, illuminating the ground at its belly like a broken halo. The worst wound the ship suffered was undeniably the direct break in its midsection, cut all the way through like a huge knife had been used to cut the warship like a slice of bread. The two pieces lay several hundred feet apart from each other, held together by a series of energy bridges, either set up by the survivors of the wreck or—something else.

"Look at that," the Marine breathed. "Thank god it didn't break up in the air."

"Sure looks pretty broken up to me."

"C'mon. Let's find a way to get down there."

He didn't know why, but the Marine seemed happier. He watched as the other man ran to the very edge of the drop-off, standing a breath away from a deadly fall, grabbing onto the tip of one boulder and staring down at the broken wreck of a once-proud transport. The mournful sound of its working mechanics wailed into the air.

Suddenly turning around, the Marine cocked his head at him, then reached out and seized his arm. After a few steps, he said, "Why do you keep holding your back like that?"

Machiel, surprised by the Marine's abrupt question and even moreso by the fact that he had actually just expressed interest in his well-being, laughed sheepishly. "It's hurting. It's been like that since the crash. I don't know what's wrong with it."

"Here. Hold this." The Marine shoved the CAR into his hands and circled around to walk behind him. "No, don't stop, keep walking." With businesslike air, the Marine reached around and unzipped the pilot's flight suit, yanking it down to his waist and making Machiel nearly fumble and drop the gun. Lifting up his undershirt, the Marine inspected the bare skin of Machiel's back.

"It doesn't look like you've got any internal bleeding going on," he said, poking the area none-too gently. Machiel grunted with pain. "Maybe it's a slipped disk. Or spinal cancer."

Machiel looked at him, his face twisting. The Marine suddenly slapped him on the back and laughed. "It hasn't killed you yet, so don't worry about it! Now get dressed." He grabbed his gun back and trotted ahead. "Well, hurry up! The sooner we get there, the sooner we can get Rhiannon back."

Another pause. Then he offered the rifle back to Machiel. He looked at it dubiously.

"…What about it?"

"You're going to need it." The weapon was once again pushed into his unsteady hands. Machiel spluttered.

"But what are you going to use?"

The Marine reached down and flicked the knife out of its sheath, flipping it expertly up in the air and catching it by its curiously carved handle. A sort of grip tape was wrapped around parts of the carvings and the blade was whip thin and almost two handspans long. The thing looked older than dirt, though, and Machiel shook his head. "I don't think that'll work. Besides, how am I supposed to shoot this thing? I'm a pilot, not an officer!"

The Marine chuckled. "You'll learn," he said, spinning the knife around in his fingers. "Besides, the _Prometheus _is a warship, is it not? If I know anything about UMS, it's that they always have spare munitions lying around. And if I have to crack a few Mercenary heads to get to them, it won't bother me too much."

Excitement crackled in the air around the Marine.

_I bet his face looks like a kid's at Christmas. Maybe he really does enjoy killing._

"Let's go, Mac."

Shrugging his shoulders back into their sleeves and zipping up his flight suit, Machiel followed the Marine down the hill.

_Wait a little bit more, Ries. Just hold on. _

_I promise I won't let you fall again. _


End file.
